


Tales of the Pulse Part 6 - Moto-Lita Moves Up in the World

by Titan_MassMind



Series: Tales of the Pulse [7]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Brainbreak, Breast-squishing, F/F, F/M, Femdom, OCs only - Freeform, heavy domination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 54,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27236593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titan_MassMind/pseuds/Titan_MassMind
Summary: The power of the Hunters transcends almost all of the most powerful champions and horrors of the last Age.  But what of the ones who stand above Hunters in many ways like they stand weaklings like Kryptonians?Mighty Moto-Lita is one of these Outliers, the grand titans at the far end of the curve.  328 cm tall and built with curves to literally die for, she is one of the Stocky, Hunters who resemble more weightlifters ascended into some new dimension of Hunters.  Her body is rounded more, jiggles more, and yet beneath the lush layer on top are massive, broad muscles, owing more development and less to definition.But even an Outlier must beware of their peers.  Today, Moto-Lita must feast deep on the pain and submission of others, to survive two of most powerful Hunters there are.  In fact, the sadistic Candy Mandy is the single most powerful female on the changed Earth, possibly in existence, and the dread Dragon Lian is her stern and vicious wife.  Mandy would like to meet.To discuss territorial mergers.  Lita now must overcharge herself on the Hungers to have any hope of holding her own.  She will do what is necessary to protect that which is hers.She always does.
Relationships: OC/OC
Series: Tales of the Pulse [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602472





	1. Introduction

Five Weeks After the Pulse

Monday; 11:23 am

Fremont, CA

"Fuck, Mikey, YES!" The orgasmic cry shatters what's left of nearby glass, but that's fixable. Her climactic roar and the crystalline explosions cover up the sound of breaking bones and whatever last, weak gurgles the "tall" man caught in her cleavage makes alongside.

Mikey might not be fixable. Her fat, succulent nipples are harder than he is now. Of course, they started harder than his skull, not to mention bigger than his pathetic little meat could ever be.

For all his squeals, whimpers, and sobbed begging for her to stop? It's not like he lost his erection, even through the worst of it.

He'd been a handsome man, when she started; not the world's best, but long lines over a body not quite so bony thin as most men were a good start. A pretty enough dick before she began to squash it

Panting, shuddering enough to rattle poor Michael all over again, the huge Hunter gives her gargantuan pectoral muscles-- and her not so gargantuan Mikey-- one last squeeze. Each heavy muscle, mostly hidden behind her heavy, arousal-enhanced breasts, already weighs much more than poor Mikey.

Tightened up like this, they make her breasts far harder than he is, too.

He suffers for her, like a breakfast snack. She's got a real meal in mind next; someone to savor tormenting. Her current tit-massaging nobody? He's barely getting the edge off her sex and sadism Hungers.

She doesn't dare think of her Third Hunger. The hunger that adds just a little extra strain around her eyes all the time. That pushes her. Provokes her.

 _Moves_ her, scrambling for so much that she hates everyone who's ever had a crumb of bread or a drop of water and-- _No. No, he's fed me some, just not that. It's not his fault. He's weak._

_He's a man._

"Mm," she gasps, his weakly writhing body still stimulating the huge mounds even as she tightens up. "Mi pequeño don nadie. Proud of you." She leans forward on her toes, pushing herself up and up while her eyes roll back in her head and her face darkens. "Ooooh!"

It's not like Mikey, her little nobody, is doing much more than being broken on her breasts. But the pleasure of it, the near-satisfaction, makes sweat drip from her forehead-- and shower Mikey's whole body. His last orgasm is spent in pain and half-awareness.

She's not even using her hands. Doesn't have to. Why would she? She's twice his height and so much more massive. Once again, the crushing force of her impossibly steely and improbably big tits slams in over his badly beaten body, just like her pussy clenches with her fading orgasms. Wringing him out between them makes her close her eyes and toss her head back and forth as she moans, mouth wide and chin up.

He isn't even gurgling now. Barely breathing. Even with the majority of his torso tucked up into her terrible, tight cleavage, she can see his naked form completely. He did cum, of course, but now his body is just wriggling on automatic.

 _They always look so ridiculous like that!_ She laughs. "Havin' problems hearing me? That's alright."

Based on how badly his cute green eyes and his brain are looking on the cellular level, she concludes his vision is fading, too. "Still," she purrs, relaxing her pecs and her breasts. "You crossed the finish line, don nadie."

Nothing. "Hey, you made it, Mikey!" she says, in a deep, roc's version of chirping. _Well, he_ kinda _made it._ Mikey's quite unconscious now, and knowing that her tits alone held the power of life and death over him is quite the thrill on its own.

He doesn't respond. She rubs her middle finger over her stiff clit, chewing on her lower lip and deciding whether to cum again. He won't survive another of her orgasms, not even if she controls it as tightly as she did the last.

She doesn't know whether or not he went by Mikey or even Mike. She doesn't care. She can still see his wallet, of all things, with an entirely irrelevant driver's license, in his pants, not too far away.

This particular Hunter took quite a bit of care, even if almost no time at all, making sure his clothes were off neatly. She doesn't care if he can walk after she's done; just that if he can, he leaves.

What she cares about is her promise to let him go if he squirmed like a good titty-toy and didn't go to sleep until after she came a few times. Which he did-- technically. So she catches him as he starts to fall from her otherwise fairly tight cleavage.

She catches his freakishly intact left foot on her pinkie, and hauls him up to eye level. Dangling him upside down, she laughs, looking at the hamburger consistency she's made of yet another man. It's so cute!

"Celebrate it, sweetie!" she tells Michael as his breathing slows and even his agonized twitching begins to cease. Possibly forever, possibly not. "Gonna thank Mami? No?"

He's not responding. So she just drops him by his clothes, limbs splayed akimbo. "Lazy," she sniffs. "Can't even get a girl clean after you mess her so." So she takes his shirt and wipes his jizz from her tits. It's not particularly impressive stuff-- or a particularly impressive wad.

Michael wasn't a particularly impressive lay.

_Just like a man. Rolls over and snores as soon as the deed's done. Of course, the snoring might be the broken nose. Or the broken sternum._

"Oh well," she says, shrugging back on her shirt. "I got my use out of you, eh?"

He doesn't answer. She waits a few moments anyway. Just for the theatrics of it. There are others watching. Mostly humans.

The other Hunters are always watching, but many of them are focused elsewhere. After all, Lita might decide she wants tougher meat next. Honestly, other than making sure her vassals are off their lazy asses, cleaning up the juices, and getting on to the tasks she's assigned, she's not going to bother much with them-- bar two.

Dragon Lian has slunk off to find other men to destroy, or sacrifice, or whatever it is she does for fun. Candy Mandy lingers, though. The enormously muscled blonde licks her lips, and makes a fist, but it's not-- exactly-- a threat.

Not with the pinkie and thumb out, knuckles by her ear. Why the gargantuan bitch _mouths_ , "Call me!" when Lita can hear her perfectly fine is a mystery that can only be answered with "because she thinks it's funny."

And "Because she's Candy Mandy, and no one can stop her." Not quite so tall as Lita but far more muscular than her best, she's hottie enough that her _interest_ doesn't taint Lita's lovely titgasms. Besides, the delicious meal of human misery and human lust will do _just fine_ for aftercare dessert.

Some sob in fear, some tremble on their knees. The humans and the metas pray-- whether she'll pass them by or that she'll select them for the honor, she doesn't care. All of them masturbate helplessly, and it makes her clench her thick rump cheeks tight, and wriggle from head to tit to toe.

Especially since most of the other Hunters still paying direct attention are frigging off, too. Power over humans-- power over _Kryptonians_ \-- is a Hunter's birthright. Making other multimeter tall bitches squirt in lust and fear?

_Okay, fine. That's ni-i-i-i-ce._

After a moment, she sticks her tongue out at Mikey's prone form and pats her taut tummy, just above her pussy's dark, wild pubes. "I gotta jet, sweet cheeks," she tells him, then reaches up to adjust her top.

She takes a moment to wiggle her tits around into the fitted shirt's custom cups. They're in place within seconds, but she keeps going, enjoying their perky heaviness. Each jiggly funbag is big enough to carry his whole body, curled up in the fetal position.

With room left over for his backpack-- and then some.

A deep belly laugh finishes settling her girls into place. "Next time you come by, if you don't say hi first?" The Hunter zips back up her jeans, patting her round, bouncy ass and letting it jiggle under her hand for a moment. "Mi culo te saludará. OK?"

Her ass will be happy to accept his "greetings" next time. Pretty little thing like him, no bigger than her thigh? Yeah, he'll feel _real_ good squirming around below, too.

She smirks. " _Read the fucking signs, Mikey,_ " she hisses. They always remember that-- the ones who come back, begging to be let back in. They remember to read the signs.

He might live. He might die. She really doesn't give a shit.

There are other Hunters out there. At least one is tracking her that she can't be certain she can beat. And then there's her plans for the _real_ orgasms of the day. That's what she calls important.

Some useless _male_ piece of ass fuckmeat? Her _warmup_?

Maybe he'll live. He's big for a man. Hard for one, too.

 _A hard man's good to beat, eh? Only I ain't ever had one that_ I _would really call hard. Nor big, neither._

She spits on his prone form. She'd be shocked if he has as much musculature in his whole body as she's got in her forearm. Maybe not even her hand. A bruise forms where the saliva swats him, but he doesn't yelp.

Maybe he'll die. The people of this town know anyone who's left in a heap _deserves_ what he or she got. They won't be in a hurry to lend a hand until he can ask.

Until he begs, like a good bitch.

How did Michael end up so badly?

She wanted him from the moment she saw him.

All of about five minutes ago.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little over a month ago, the world ended. Out of its ashes rise the time of the Hunters, and of those Hunters, the Outliers are the mightiest. Fifteen terrifying entities with the ability to devastate entire armies of other Hunters and lay waste to cosmic and meta-cosmic threats with a single fist now strive to dominate the future of the Hunters, whether they will celebrate their Hungers or deny them.
> 
> Moto-Lita couldn't care less, except how it affects her slow and careful increase of her holdings, and most importantly, how it affects her family. The morality of the Idealists interests her even less than the theology of her fellow Pragmatist. To Moto-Lita, the world is divided into two categories: those whom she cares for, and everyone else.
> 
> And of those she loves, there are none greater than her family. With the help of her genius baby brother she's turned her old subsurface superhero base and hypertech factory into a sprawling underground city. Nonetheless, as a lone Outlier with but a few vassals to her name, the very fact that she can enter the Moto-Plex at all means it is vulnerable. So to her family she goes, to draw strength and inspiration to face the day.

Monday, 10:42am

Forty One Minutes Earlier

Moto-Lita is functionally the queen of a very tiny dominion. No other Hunter dares to treat her as anything less than a sovereign; the idealists and the Candy Girls both want to convert her. She will give Candy Mandy one thing.

She and Dragon Lian at least make a show out of their displays of "Female Muscle Divinity," and whatever it is they're doing to try to convince Lita to swear oaths with them. As blunt and ridiculous as that is, at least the flirting is hot, and shows they want Lita for herself. The others...

The Princesses and Iron Discipline just lecture her, dismissing her counterpoints as either "irrelevant in the face of our Moral Responsibility" or "self-evidently the product of Inappropriately Evaluated Priorities." Candy Mandy is not the only Outlier who can speak in capital letters.

Then there's Lupe Lòpez, the great Cowgirl Lupe…  _ Choirgirl is more like it! She isn't even as gentle as Star, and she treats  _ me _ like I'm just two steps away from Mandy-- max? _

It's infuriating.

But none of them _ dare _ to presume her compliance, let alone her allegiance. She sets her own laws, her own practices, and just plain rules a tight little stretch of Northern California and points inland like she had been its ruling godqueen for centuries, not just a little over a month And one thing comes absolutely first to the amoral, Omega-class predator.

Before pleasure, before discipline, before even  _ feeding _ , she takes care of one thing first.

Her family. 

\---

"You'll be careful, Carmelita?"

A soft, wry smile touches Moto-Lita's face. "Aw, Mama!" she protests, kneeling down to kiss the top of her mother's head. "You should be worrying about Antonio," she continues. "He's the one--"

For all that the three point two-eight meter tall colossal woman could easily keep rolling verbally over her (fairly tall, for a human) mother, she doesn't. "Oh, Antonio!" her mother responds, and makes a half-exasperated, half-loving gesture at her titanic daughter.

Who makes a very similar gesture in return and stays kneeling.  _ It's easier to talk with Mama this way. _ Even if she has to ruthlessly suppress the part of her that snarls and snaps at her mother's interruption. It isn't too hard; she loves her family so much.

The smile they share makes their faces look like mirrors for a moment. Lita's raven-black hair may be only shoulder-length to her mother's waist-length mane, but both of them have a matte black bandana tied over it, just like they both have fairly prodigious chests-- for their species-- stuffed into black-fabric tees with beautifully detailed muscle cars on display.

For that matter, they're both fond of the Mustang Cobras so displayed, and both women's shirts are tucked into jeans that require no small amount of their prodigious stubbornness to get over prodigious hips.

_ By Earth and Stone, I wish you were a Hunter too, Mama. I've never wished the Hungers on you before. But with  _ Candy Mandy _ pushing in on our borders-- Gaia-Geb, why have you left me alone? _

The name is instinctive to Hunters, though as far as Lita knows, only if they call on deities. Even then, some of the strangest theories and rituals show up. The Parent and Jailer, however, has stayed quiet for the most part.

Even Lita mostly only intuits her understanding of the great entity from her observations of otherwise impenetrable Earth. Well, that, and overhearing a few strange conversations, like that between Harleen Quinnzel and Pamela Isley. But she can feel the deep connection to that quiet stillness.

She doesn't go to church any more. Her parents empathize, and believe they understand. She does make Tony, go, though.

There's similarity between the two women in more than stubbornness. Echoes of their old similarity still show proudly in both women. The Pulse has magnified Carmelita "Moto-Lita" Cardozo y Delgado's natural hefty figure to exponential proportions when it shot her up from a mere ten centimeter gap in height to being nearly double her mama's already powerful stature. Still, back before becoming a Hunter, she and her mother used to spot for each other in the weight room.

And if one was busy, Lita's father would take up the slack. It's how the two met, as it happens, and it's still their favorite leisure-time activity. Ironically, that, at least, has become easier for the two after the world ended.

With the underground Moto-Plex being both the capital fortress of the city of Fremont and their new home, Lita's made sure that her parents have unlimited access to weight machines that simply no longer challenge Lita-- not if all of their weights were combined into one!

But it's not conventional weightlifters, or even puny things like superheroes, that concern Lita today. Last night, she received an email from the most terrifying Hunter on the planet. The one that scares every last other Hunter, Moto-Lita definitely included.

Candy Mandy. Just thinking the name makes a decidedly unpleasant shiver roll through Lita. The need for warmth strikes her like the need for air-- like all three of the Drives at once.  _ Mostly unpleasant… fuck but that woman's beautiful. _ Enough unpleasant to keep the chill bone-deep.

She hugs her mother tight abruptly. "Carmelita?" her mother asks, then hugs her daughter back awkwardly. Forcing herself not to tear up from sheer force of will, Lita smiles, letting the warmth of family and the warmth of love flow into her once more.

It doesn't take  _ too _ long, just a few endless milliseconds. Renewed, she gently pats her mother's broad-for-a-human shoulders. "Just thinking about safety, Mama," Lita replies quietly. "Like you. You know I worry about you and Papa."

"At least your father stays down here, Carmelita! Does it have to be you, checking everywhere, all the time?" Clementina Delgado de Cardozo is worried. She's adjusted to the new normal of the Post-Pulse world. To a life where enormous women like her daughter can make skyscrapers and superheroes alike vanish with a gentle swat of their hands.

Clementina didn't read the e-mail. Lita would never think of putting  _ that _ weight on her mother's shoulders. Which means, of course, Clementina has no idea how worried she should be.

Lita does know how worried to be. The lives of any humans within the grasp of Candy Mandy and Dragon Lian is  _ much  _ worse than the way Lita treats the denizens of the Moto-Plex. And as for  _ men _ in the area sometimes called Candyland in tones of fear, well…

Lita doesn't exactly believe that the men in her life get to challenge her decisions about how to best use their time, let alone have anything resembling a veto over how Fremont is ruled, but she also doesn't treat her family like cattle!

They say Candy Mandy's mother used her husband until he died, then fucked her next toy on top of the old one's casket. They say Dragon Lian's mother sacrificed D-List male superheroes to ensure her child was female. And last night, she got an email with a terrifying From: Mandy, Candy, and an even more terrifying subject line.

Subject: Meet-Up, Bitch. Re: Territorial Merger.

The email had been full of incredibly unsubtle innuendo and teasing suggestions about "mergers" that left Lita terrified. Candy Mandy is  _ the _ old-school megabitch supreme. One of the maneaters whose sociopathic predations set the mold for every Hunter save those few who strive for some measure of  _ control _ of their instincts.

And those who think they can beat their instincts into submission. But Lita has no time to waste on moonbeam idealism and pleasantly nostalgic fantasies. Especially those barely surface deep.

Candy Mandy, and her wife, Dragon Lian, are among the few of the super-shredded, mega-buff Hunters of the standard model that Lita isn't sure she could put in the dirt. That's why she's been moving so much slower taking territory. What she has, she holds, and those whom she loves, she defends.

Which means conquering other Hunters, and taking their oaths. But there's not one of those who owes vassalage to Moto-Lita who could so much as survive a harsh breath from Candy Mandy. Lita isn't sure most of them could survive that smoking-cold stare of Dragon Lian's, either.

She knows what Mandy wants. She wants Lita. To date, she's used a combination of clumsy but internally convincing attempts to pretend they were "meant to be" and enthusiastic but self-limited attempts to get into her pants.

Lita will pay her back for that some day, she's certain. For the extra pain-- oh yes, the extra domination, the slight feeding, the teasing  _ scent _ of her ever-yawning Masochism Drive being touched by that insane twat and her fanatic wife… Lita bites her lip and gives her mother a smile.

_ She worries enough without having to know… _ No one, Lita is certain, knows how much it all pulls on her. How much it hurts; how much she wants to curl up in her tiny mother's arms and sob and beg for-- beg to…

_ She can't shoulder that anymore, Lita, _ she reminds herself.  _ You know that. _

What she doesn't know is what Mandy  _ intends. _ The email is far less direct than her usually charmingly unfiltered pick-up lines, but isn't full of quasi-religious pleading for Lita to trust in the rightness.

With footnotes and data tables, so at least Lita can try to decipher  _ how _ she's spoofing. You know, for fun. This message is pleasantly salacious but aggressively intimate and acquisitive.

_ I've worked so hard to tame the other bitches around here so my family can walk above ground in the sunlight on schedule in three months. And now, Candy Mandy wants to talk "bedroom acquisitions?" What the hell does that even mean? _

_ Maybe the bitch thinks I'm soft or something? Can the most powerful Hunter in the world be fooled by appearances? _ It's not likely, and even if the hotblooded Candy Mandy might be-- they say Dragon Lian's blood runs colder than the vacuum of intergalactic space, and Lita  _ knows _ from her own cybersecurity nightmares that Lian is at least as smart as Lita is.

There's no way that Lita's cushy frame fools either of them into thinking Lita's weak. Which means if they're making threats, if threats those were… Lita hugs her mother tight again, stifling one of her mother's squeaks with a vast warmth.

"It has to be me, Mama," Lita says softly when she loosens the hug a bit. Running her hands through her mother's hair in imitation of how her mother used to do to her, Lita smiles sadly. "I'm the only one who can keep those… women… I've tamed in line."

Quickly changing the subject, she snorts. "Now if only, say, Tony's  _ mother _ could keep  _ him _ in line?" she asks with false optimism.

The sigh both women share only increases the parallels in their appearance-- so far as that goes. Because Carmelita Delgado y Cardozo  _ is _ a Hunter, if an unusual one. And Clementina Delgado is not any kind of Hunter, for all Lita desperately could use the help.

While most of the gigantic ultra-predators known as Hunters look like the nightmare of a bodybuilder's wet dream, Lita looks more like the combination of a weightlifter's envy-forged nightmare and the wet dreams of anyone who favors the curvaceous and the plump over the stick and the willow. She's certainly no less strong or muscular than any other Hunter.

In point of fact, Lita is quite possibly one of the ten most powerful Hunters who have strode across the changed planet Earth since the Pulse unlocked the very gates of power within them. When she flexes an arm, the peak that rises isn't just a mountain among the hills pumped out by mere striplings like Superman or Captain Marvel.

It's an Everest among the low, rolling mountains of her sister Hunters-- and whether Kryptonian or magic's champion, the mightiest men (and women) of the Age of Heroes might as well be  _ plains. _

Her mother might not be quite so big, but she's a hefty woman herself. At a good one point seven five meters tall, she's barely two centimeters shorter than the average man, and as owner, proprietor, and original mechanic for Delgado Auto Body, she's left more than merely average men wincing after an arm-wrestling contest.

It might have been the strength of her arms that got her husband interested oh so many decades prior. Strength of her arms, fierceness of her smile, and the ferocity of her curves. But it was the strength of her convictions and the power of her mind that kept Newark Memorial's best science teacher, Mr. Cardozo, fascinated then and now.

That said, while Clementina Delgado may not be stacked enough to make a porn star look flat (and green with envy) like her daughter is now, her own strength is well-padded enough to suggest the sort of shape her enormous daughter once had when she, too, had the form of merely a human. The Pulse may have made Lita a giant, but it's her Delgado y Cardozo heritages that set the huge young woman's  _ tone. _

It's a big family. Alejandro Cardozo de Delgado was once convinced by their fairly tall son-- Antonio, the subject of the two Ms. Delgados' conversation-- to cosplay as Darth Vader. At two full meters tall, Alejandro doesn't hold a candle to his daughter's three point two-eight meters of height, but he filled out the dark costume so well he was mistaken for a professional cosplayer-- or a pro basketball player.

_ Papa… _ she thinks.  _ Candy Mandy uses men up and throws them away like-- discarded candy wrappers. _ _ Not my Papa! _

_ And not my baby brother. _

Now, of course, Lita is bigger than any four basketball centers put together… with change. Antonio, the youngest, is determinedly not, but at ten years old, he's as stubborn as both of his parents put together. Despite the end of the world of men and his (very) big sister's otherwise permissive streak regarding the use of hovering robot drones, Tony has been pushing to be allowed to come along on Lita's "missions" to the surface.

The ones where she's on more than one occasion had to kill a fellow Hunter to stop her from raping and/or killing her way through Fremont. Through Lita's territory.  _ And Moto-Lita does  _ not _ tolerate that bullshit, _ she thinks, using language her mom calls 'shop talk' and doesn't like hearing from her daughter, even still.

She doesn't like that her daughter has to kill. Even to protect the family. Even to protect the city. But as a forty-eight years-old Latina and long-term business owner, Clementina has a ruthless practical streak that sometimes makes Lita wish she could grant her mother even a tithe of her strength, just to have  _ her _ along as backup.

But it's getting close to noon, and Lita knows that her sister Hunters and the nastier sorts of wandering humans have started taking advantage of human reluctance to keep to their natural biorhythms in the wake of the disastrous Pulse. She might not share every burden with her mother, but Clementina knows she has to let her daughter go. Knows that ultimately, she can't stop Lita.

_ Even if I can't let her know that someone else might be able to stop me… _ "Cough, cough, hint hint, Mama?" Lita asks, pushing both of their primary thoughts to a certain well-loved and not entirely exasperating young boy

They're both grateful for the topic change, as Lita knew they would be. Clementina snorts at the suggestion that such a humble entity as Antonio's  _ mother _ would be able to press caution upon the boy. Especially not when the ten year old boy is bound and determined that he  _ will _ take the Mini-Moto Suit out in the field as his beloved sister's sidekick.

She shakes her head at Lita's suggestion, laughing gently. "If he didn't listen to me before you gave him his own lab, why do you think he will now, Carmelita?" An over-exaggerated sigh runs through the broad shoulders of both women in unison.

Lita-- Carla Delgado on her birth certificate, Carmelita to almost everyone since kindergarten-- rolls shoulders broad enough to hold her mother and two clones abreast, shaking her head. It's trivial enough to set her mother at ease, after all.

So if Clementina is still nervously trying to make sure  _ someone _ else is helping put the brakes on Tony's unsafe desire to go to the surface? If she wants to know her daughter and protector still loves her family? Lita can provide that, and does.

Rolling her eyes first, Lita crouches further down to eye level and winks at Clementina. "I'm just glad he still shares my drones with me!" she responds, getting peals of shared, cleansing laughter from the woman who is still the foundation of her life, and has always been.

It takes so very little to keep Clementina Delgado happy. Her daughter would do far more, and far worse to make either of her parents happy.

She often has, especially in the last few weeks. Since the night her drones told her they'd locked themselves down in her  _ special _ lab with her cousins and extended family. The panic plan, they'd called it. The Apokolips Now alert.

She puts a gentle hand on her mother's shoulder. "I promise, Mama," she says. "I won't take unnecessary risks."  _ Of course, what's a risk for me… and what's unnecessary… _ "Tony, though, he just keeps pushing!"

Clementina rolls her eyes, a familiarity that only Lita's family is permitted. "I think you can push back against a ten year-old boy even better than his Mama, Carmelita." She prods her gigantic daughter in her gargantuan arm-- an arm now thicker than the chassis of the motorcycle mode of Lita's old Moto-Lita power armor.

It's safer territory. Neither complaint about her baby brother is  _ entirely  _ fair, anyway. Antonio is just as stubborn the rest of the Cardozo y Delgado clan, but the boy isn't as stupid about it as a lot of his peers are in the first place.

Being big for his age, and smarter than all of his teachers, always gave him a tendency to be quiet and considerate. In that, he takes after their mother, though, as in so much else. Tony is willing and helpful, but utterly relentless.

He knows it, too. So it's not like he's ranting every night that his parents just don't understand. He does listen to their mother… mostly.

And it's not like Lita doesn't have to tell him things three times to get it to stick, anyway; she's on her way to give him riot act number three right now, too. She may be a Hunter now, but she'd have to cross her own lines to force Tony to heed her the first time, every time. Moral and emotional lines she holds sacred.

There's nothing in the world that could make her cross those lines.

Lita doesn't mind taking the time to banter about her brother, though. Nor truly, taking the time to reassure her mother that she'll keep track of the other Hunters upon the changed Earth. 

"I'll make sure he gets to bed on time, Mama, unless you think you and Papa are ready to change back to diurnal…?"

As expected, bold as she is, Clementina considers the possibility of returning to daylight hours briefly, then shakes her head. "Not yet, Lita. Maybe soon. I love you."

"Love you too, Mama."  _ Here's hoping that maybe isn't so maybe. _ The two women hug again, and Lita heads off down the carefully planned tunnels of the vastly expanded Moto-Plex, dire ruminations her constant companion.

\---

There's a curse to every blessing of being a Hunter, in many ways. While reassuring her mother is soothing to Lita, some parts of her still worry about the suggestions of that suggestive e-mail. And worse, what any sort of  _ acquisition  _ by Candy Mandy might mean for a gentle man who would be considered a giant, were it not for the true giantesses who own the changed Earth… and a bright, beautiful boy who should have had the whole world open to him.

Until the Pulse. It's somewhat irrational, but for all her mother's worries… Lita is glad she has her mother to lean on, metaphorically speaking.

Clementina has always been the surety of Lita's life. As a child genius, as a teen superhero, and then as one of the West Coast's premiere champions, Lita has always been able to go to Clementina for moral and emotional support. Before and after she was irrevocably changed into one of the crowning jewels of the terrifyingly powerful Hunters.

The Pulse ended almost all the sureties of Clementina's life. Took from her what safety owning her own business and carving her way up the socioeconomic ladder had bought for her, her husband, and her children. So Lita is more than happy to stand like a modern, mightier Atlas, keeping the sky from falling in on her mother even so much as a millimeter further from where the night of the Pulse left it.

She thanked God that night, Lita did, waking up after having fallen out of the sky mid-Pulse. Not for survival. The name "Gaia-Geb" was whispering in her mind even then.

No, she thanked God for the inspiration ten years prior to sink her hypertech lab, crisis bunker, and powered armor hangar so deep into the Earth beneath the auto shop her mother owned that her primary access point was underwater. It had kept her-- and her family-- safe from powered criminals, asshole "colleagues," and metageniuses for years.

She had a lot of cause to be grateful for it, even before she burst out of her Moto-Lita mark 24 "Cyclone" model armor a good kilometer and a half above the Fremont streets.

Because the earth, stone or dirt, so long as it is unworked, is the only thing that can stand against a Hunter's terrifying strength, speed, and senses. So even then, even unconscious from the Pulse and the fall, Lita was able to give back to her mother what she had been given from the moment she was born. Safety in an increasingly harsh world.

_ Will it be safety  _ enough, _ if I can't keep Candy Mandy's hands off the Bay Area? _

Since becoming a giant Hunter, there's been some challenges for Lita. Especially with convincing people to follow her  _ without _ screaming panic or having to reduce them to quivering, worshipful worms.  _ Yet another line I'm  _ not _ crossing with my family! _

But in some ways, between the extra-curviness, ruling the people of their little enclave, and having her mother at hip height, Lita suspects her mother... thinks of her in part as a fellow mother.

It's certainly been easier to keep her "specials"-- the ones she keeps close-- in line since her parents decided to follow her lead. Clementina was a tough, fierce woman; an excellent businesswoman and a mechanic even before she added Cardozo to her name. Not that she was ever going to give up the Delgado.

Clementina's extended family, her employees, and their families make up more than half of the inhabitants of the Moto-Plex. Of what amounts to an underground fortress now. Lita had a fairly extensive complex made when she was "just" a local superhero-- and could still dig in the Earth.

With the change of the Pulse, even things she's  _ built _ can't so much as dig out hard-packed soil. But her brother, and others, have designed their own drones and expanded the Plex considerably. They're still expanding it, while Lita and her advisors debate making this neighborhood of Fremont into an underground city. It's certainly a way to keep them safe from marauding Hunters… mostly.

Her father, Alejandro Cardozo de Delgado, has always been proud of his family. A high school science teacher (who dabbled in math and social studies when the school needed it), he found his children's genius something to celebrate. Just like he found his wife's intellect and acumen something to cheer for.

And everyone's strength.

He teaches the children, now. Insists on it, in fact, and Lita has been more than happy to make as many computers as he needs to work with the kids. And he has hopes that Lita, and "Hunters who are like you-- not so predatory," can fix some sort of new society that will be safe above ground.

_ Oh, Papa. If only things were that simple… I love you, too. And I will not let anyone hurt you. _

_ Not if I have the power to stop it. It's just that… for once, since the Pulse, I'm not sure I do. _

The Moto-Plex was big when Lita made it in the first place. Sometimes, she used to wonder if that was the way it was for any hero who had the tools, or the money-- find space, or make it. Back then, when she could push a button and, within hours, excavate a new storage locker or a different specialized lab.

_ Now, I don't just need humans to push the button, I need them to make the bots. Something they can do we can't. Something to remember. _

She tilts her around, looking over the cavernous Main Plex. The name was her brother's choice; he likes following his big sister everywhere. Or used to, before she "let" him use her robotics lab. 

Lita can't help but smile. The majority of adults are down in apartments off subcorridors, sleeping, as they usually are this far into the day. It's silly, but they do it.

Most Hunters don't have time for poetry. With the Hungers driving them relentlessly onwards to the next kill, the next fuck, the next conquest, why would they? She feels the Hungers, too, but she knows how to take care of that.

So she makes time for poetry. Of all kinds. "Wild children with me, beautiful these children, almost they are free," she says, her vast chest making it soft and deep. Her voice reaches subharmonics by the time the children hear it-- and play louder, more fiercely, and with more abandon. Just the way she wants them to.

The children here are of all ethnicities-- Hispanic, white, black, Chinese, whoever was born to her circle of family and friends. They're safe down here, not just from Hunters. Even above ground, her monitors and drones strictly keep children under guard.

Down  _ here _ ? In what amounts to the regional  _ fortress _ ? Down here, the worst anyone's in for is a skinned knee before the Plex's automatic-defenses-turned-nannies swoop in.

And she loves to see them play.  _ So let them play on. A reminder that life goes on. _

If their parents want them to learn during the night-- fine. "It's so silly," she mutters. "It's actually more dangerous outside at night…"  _ Oh well. Humans will have their silliness, adults or children. _

It's not going to take too long to get them to change back. She just has to finish a few projects aboveground first. It's even sillier, their daytime-nighttime obsessions.

Given she doesn't intend to let the special ones far from the fortress much at all, anyways. There are risks they don't need to take. Things they don't need to see.

She leans against a wall as she watches some complex game go on with too many rubber balls and not so many rules. Her father manages the roaming daycare and activities-- there he is, with an indulgent eye on the kids and a far sharper watch on the health and safety monitors.

He's their teacher at night, with help from the AI she once built to manage the Plex's mini-factory. But until the monitor systems decide they're ready for and need sleep-- let them play on. It makes her smile to see the near-perpetual motion of play.

Lita's a lot more concerned with her own smiles than she used to be. The Pulse played favorites, and she benefited, it's true. But there are always costs. It's just convenient that she gains a certain amount of contentment setting people's lives  _ right. _

Fixing things. Making them perfect. Despite the end of the world.

Despite the end of the world, life goes on. No one down here thinks otherwise. Even the children know that the world they had so recently isn't coming back. Even the adults have learned to keep living.

The children are the best at it. The real children, that is; Lita is uncomfortably aware that her mother isn't the only one who's starting to see  _ her _ in a parental light. Not just a leader, not just a champion, but… a parent.

_ And given the way I think about some of them, ladies as well as dudes, that level of famili-arity is concerning. _

But at this point, even tall humans, like her mother, only come up to about the same relative height on Lita as toddlers do to her mother. Lita was always smarter than everyone else around her. Now, bigger too, so big that she seems to hold up the sky, it's so easy for other adults to naturally fall into a child's role with Lita.

And it means that they don't precisely argue with her choices very often.

Tony does, though. Lita ducks down the hallway towards what used to be her main power armor development facility. Thankfully, she designed the Moto-Plex big enough that she could walk through with plenty of clearance in her Moto Armor-- or test its motorcycle mode's pinpoint turns.

She still has to duck down to move deeper in. Duck, and squirm, vast shoulders and broader breasts working awkwardly and relatively slowly around the access hatches. Here, muscle like hers is a hindrance, making the transition from one subcomplex to the next sort of like stuffing a pitbull into guinea pig pipe-tunnels.

If it weren't for the flexibility endowed by the fractal tertiary muscles, she wouldn't be able to do it, and even then it's slow going. 

She grumbles to herself as she makes the transition. It's become a routine.  _ One arm in and around to brace. Inhale, suck in those tits and soft stomach, nevermind the more-than-eight-pack beneath. Duck your head low… don't crush the security barrier with your ass, Lita! _

_ Spread your right leg out, then hook it around too. Tuck the knee in, almost here… _ It's the final transition, when she has to get her gargantuan left breast in at the same time as her burly left arm-- that's when she really has to go slow or risk smashing things.

Slow in this case is counted in tenths of a second, not seconds, but it's still slow-- for her.

The connections between subcomplexes were always smaller, to make them easier to seal off in the event of invasion. Now, they're smaller precisely because it slows even her down. It would slow an outside Hunter down, too.

In theory, this was once a straight shot to the main lab and hangar complex, but the Plex has expanded. For safety and security reasons, the robotics labs and arsenal are not directly connected to the old auto shop that now serves as a kind of town hall.  _ I'm just glad I insisted on a pretty rigorous grid when we started. _

Several of Lita's people would have sunk tunnels directly to their old homes, with no thought for the subterranean industry that protects and nurtures them.  _ Humans just don't think long term! _ She let them build out, but slowly, and according to plan.

And she defends their homes anyway. Their homes are her territory. She's made that clear to every Hunter who's so much as poked around the whole Bay area.

_ Honestly, I suppose I should feel grateful Mandy hasn't shoved her fat, pink-clad ass into my business earlier. _ Thinking about Mandy's ass… helps, actually. It's a pretty ass-- a  _ very _ pretty ass-- and there are parts of Lita that are delusional enough to think she might get to paddle it one of these centuries.  _ Arousal is a hell of a confidence builder. _

Surface Fremont belongs to Lita, too. It's easier for her to move there; she doesn't have to worry about crumpling the side of the street like she does the battleplate lining the Plex's tunnels. Down here, an errant swing of her  _ tits _ once shattered an entire expansion wing.

_ That was hairy. _ She moves much more carefully now. Only having a speed that makes the Flash look like a slug let her save everyone in that subwarren-- and herself. Had she been cut off, she'd have had seconds at most to batter through, or been trapped until rescue bots were sent in.

Or killed. Stone alone treats humans and Hunters opposite the norm, so long as it is unworked. Her breast-bash couldn't knock a single grain of dirt loose… but when the explosions made by materials she  _ didn't _ have a hand in making hit…

If she'd been trapped, and a deadfall lingered long enough to become 'natural' again…  _ Gaia-Geb plays few favorites, _ she reminds herself, shivering.  _ Hunters rule over the people of the changed Earth but we do not rule the Earth. If I can't remember that, I deserve to die. _

Lita shakes away the cobwebs of fear, making her curvy, super-padded body jiggle. That body is one of the many reasons why she's been more easily accepted by the people of Fremont in general and her personal protectorate in specific. She looks, to be blunt, a little chubby.

So many people forget that 'pleasingly plump' is something that can be applied to weightlifters, not just jolly, cuddly-sensual types. They forget that if you compare a weightlifter to a body builder, the weightlifter's got more  _ useful _ muscle. Physical muscle isn't the only measure of a Hunter's strength, let alone her might, but it is always suggestive.

Almost as suggestive as the intimate wriggle that always works its way into the swagger of her steps and the sway of her hips. For all she is taller than all but a fraction of her sister Hunters-- and more powerful than all but a half-dozen or so-- Moto-Lita's people think of her as a violent Ms. Santa Claus.

With a cavern full of wonderful toys and a kind, if firm, hand on the tiller, they seem to relax faster after each stern-voiced order, and volunteer themselves to assist her when other Hunters might need to snap a demand.

They even relax around her, trust their children's safety to her.  _ They think their children are more safe around me than Papa. It's true, I suppose. _

_ I will take care of all that's mine, and I will see the entire west coast  _ burn _ before I let some jacked up, super-shredded  _ bitch _ hurt the children I've promised to protect. _

_ Especially Tony. _

Lita ducks her head into what had once been her main Lita Lab. Even with her proud parents' support, she couldn't afford the best equipment. Not even the top of the line civilian stuff.

So when she was twelve, a good decade past now, she started building her own. A little over five weeks ago, what she called a mini-factory, Wayne Enterprises would call "an integrated, space-efficient 3D printer and assembly station." LexCorp would try to steal it, and many major militaries would have tried to help, just to get a piece of the action.

Now, it's a hand-me-down. With a mere three meters-- just under ten feet-- of clearance, Lita "fits" into the door the same way she fits into her jeans. With a lot of grunting, some violations of Euclidean geometry, and more than a bit of over-spillage.

"Oof," she grunts. "Which idiot was it that called for maintaining the current ceiling clearance in  _ my _ damn complex?"

The chirpy voice that replies is full of zing, and just a hint of nervousness. "That'd be you, sis," Tony replies. "Seeing as how you set  _ all _ the building codes for Fremont now."

If her mother is her right hand and her father the warmth on her heart, her baby brother is the apple of her eye. Antonio Cardozo y Delgado, age ten and just as smart as she was at his age, fits much better into her old lab. He's big for his years, taking after their father, but he still has to wear the Mini-Moto exoskeleton just to  _ use _ most of the consoles.

She snorts. "Whole Bay area soon's we can get some treaties nailed down," she rumbles with a drawl. "Whatcha up to, Tony?" As if she didn't know. She always knew there was a risk, letting him use the lab.

But he was always so smart. And since she had built the equipment they couldn't afford when she was that age, she damn well wanted him to have the opportunities to use it.  _ Besides, he snuck down here after like, what, five different lock changes anyway? _

Not being stupid, and having a pretty good sense of pattern recognition, Lita thought she knew exactly what the future was going to hold. Aggressively loyal, talented in the same fields she had been at that age, she had been so certain that he was on the path to being her Plucky Kid Sidekick, whether she wanted one or not.

That, or grow up bitter that she "held him back," and turned into a member of her burgeoning gallery of rogues. Neither she nor her parents wanted that much more than they wanted him to end up like the second Robin-- or the first Batgirl. Over the last ten years, Lita learned far too many horror stories.

So two years back, she built him the Mini-Moto suit anyway. Developed it to be easily resizable-- useful, since at ten, he's already looking like most thirteen-year-olds--  _ heavily _ defended, and, tying for most important, she put multiple devices and trace elements she could covertly track… and it interfaced with her lab, even then.

_ Interfaced strictly under my control, yeah, _ she thinks proudly, ruffling Tony's dark black hair and loving how far his smile reaches into his bright brown eyes. "Ack, sis!" he yelps, giving his adorable best attempt at a glare and trying to straighten his hair into what he thinks of as neat and serious.

The Mini-Moto suit uses the same overall teal color scheme she picked a decade ago for her first power armor, and has stuck to since. Green-washed silver and chrome for the trim, with the occasional reds and golds for emphasis. He looks like a kid from some seventies' vision of the future, perpetually prepared for hostile environment action.

To herself, at least, Lita will admit--  _ Tony does manage the gravitas thing okay sometimes. Good thing I'm big enough to muss it up so easily. He needs more play in his life. _

_ But letting him interface with the lab at all gave him something to do. Let him feel like he was doing something important. By doing something important-- being my comms and research guy, staying here. In the lab. _

_ Safe. _

It's even more important now. She had been wrong about the future. Tony may be as big as a teenager, but he's still not one yet.

Even if he was, Lita could never let him fly out independently. He may be big, but he's not a Hunter. She already had to install a filtering AI for the drone network. There are far too many horrible things for him to see, out in the world. As for going out there in person…!

_ By the Earth that surrounds us, he's not even half my height! _

"Ey, Tony," Lita rumbles. Her baby brother is sitting at the level he finds most comfortable, at an extension of the engineering "autopsy" table sized just for him. "I saw you knocked off the mole-miners from the project grid. Shouldn't you be workin' on Mama's new UnderBay mantas… or better yet, goin' to sleep?"

Of course, sized for her baby brother means the giant Hunter has to kneel down to ruffle her fingers through his hair yet again. Where once she had more open space in the center of the lab, it resembles a series of step pyramids or altars, all around the original temples. His lab chair locks into place at whichever level he wants to work at, letting him multitask pretty well-- for a human.

Plus, most of his bot assistants hover anyway. 

"Uh, hi, Lita," Tony says with a cough and a blush. Enthusiasm runs rampant over his dark tan face, where it runs into a shiftiness that he doesn't wear quite so well. "Um. 'Bout that. See, there's an interesting change in the drive tech I found in the miners, right? So I started looking at the batteries and how they interface with the beamed energy reception..."

She gave him the challenge of integrating the bots to a lab with less floorspace. She tiered all of the lab tables in her shop, so that he would never have to strain when working on tech for the Plex, for her, or for himself. He went straight to antigrav, and she couldn't have been prouder.

But that face of his… Her Tony has never been all that  _ sneaky, _ not the Delgado-Cardozo's sweet little boy. Just good at sneak _ ing _ . The guilt on him would have been obvious before the Pulse. Now?

Now, even before he can start mumbling about, "Improving the efficiency on the receiver," she can read his real thoughts like they were written in a bubble above his head. . o O (Please don't notice that I'm trying to improve the range for the drones, sis! I want to help you!)

_ So fuckin' earnest I could die. Adorable! _ But she knows saying it that way will just make him more stubborn. There's only one option available; it's not one their parents would use, or even think of. But she sees every string attached to him the same way she does the other geniuses under her command.

_ Well, ok, not  _ exactly _ the same as, say, Engine Joan. _ Her relationship with her former mentor is out of necessity different than that with her little brother.

She ruffles Tony's hair again anyway. He'd suspect something if she didn't. "The range, Tony," she says quietly. "You know I can see the builds you're making. Why?"

Tony slumps forward. "I know you think I'm usel--"

"I. Do. Not."

The sharpness of Lita's voice cracks like a whip, and like an expert lion-tamer with a cub, her aim is perfect-- near enough to startle, but not close enough to hurt her little lion. "Lita," Tony begins to plead.

"Don't Lita me, Tony," she replies. "I am not one of those crazy-butt witches up above." He gives an awkward giggle; too smart to not know the words but also smart enough to realize why she doesn't want either of them developing bad habits their parents might pick up. "I know I may  _ look _ like them, but I'm not."

_ Nor are all of the ones I deal with, but that's a complication that can wait until he's older. _

She prods him in the chest. "Ow!" he yelps, though she knows not even a bruise is left-- she will not allow it. Her pointer finger is exquisitely gentle, but the energy fields of the Mini-Moto suit crackle and protest, kinetic fields that could throw off a main battle tank's shaped-charge shells almost buckling.

"I am not," she repeats. "And so I don't think you're useless. I don't think you're fit just to be killed, or to be abused, raped, abused again, and raped again, and then abused  _ again _ again, Tony… but you're big enough that some of them might."

She feels a bit guilty about ending it on the 'might'. It's not quite a lie, but it's pushing it, and it irks her she has to. No Hunter thinks of a child as sexual. Even the complete scumbag who holds Meso-America doesn't do that.

_ But the Twisted Sisters would think you'd make fine cattle when you grew up, and not just those crazy bitches. _ Hunters have hard and fast rules… but those are all fairly narrow. And she has to protect her family.

Even from herself. She hasn't had an orgasm in the last hour or so, and the Hungers are already mounting.

And she's had to be so  _ fucking nice _ to people to achieve her goals it hurts.

It hurts like Hunger.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mighty Moto-Lita contains multitudes of threaded mental compartments. Her personality is the core through which all of those threads decide and act upon the world. But, like even humans do, she can code-switch.
> 
> She's just marvelously, infinitely better at it, just like she is in all things. Talking to her parents, she's the Big Tragic Superhero; to her baby brother, she's an indulgent but firm mentor and commander. And she will make sure he is safe in this world rebuilt on feminine strength and masculine submission. Not just surviving; thriving.
> 
> But others? Those in her 'Plex and eventually, other chosen subsurface cities shall be nobles and the blessed who live in total bliss... Including subspace and pain become pleasure, but still.
> 
> Out from the 'Plex she goes, though. Out to the rest of her people. The ones who know how much they are slaves and bear the costs.
> 
> The ocean haunts her, denies her sight, and she will conquer it one day. But she has plans, and she needs to feed. Not on her people.
> 
> Not like this. But ah, look. A volunteer.

Lita Delgado has to feed. And for a Hunter, that's a bit more complicated than the physical nourishment that most need once every few years or so, and Lita may never have to do again within her lifespan. Like any Hunter, she also has to feed on sex, sadism, and masochism-- and that means she has to get away from her family.

She doesn't want them to see what she becomes when she must feed.

She  _ definitely _ doesn't want her baby brother Antonio Cardozo to see her when she feeds. Worse, she doesn't want him risking himself, sneaking after her in some ridiculous stealth power armor. There's no technology in the world that can hide the presence of something from a Hunter's eyes, even if she and Tony have figured out how to  _ obscure _ them.

But even if no human could see where light bends and camo-projection fields soften, such stealth would be a gigantic, glowing beacon to any Hunter.

Including Lita, there are one hundred and forty Hunters in the San Francisco Bay area. Half of whom have set down long term roots, and the others seem to be wandering in and out. She'd die before she let a solitary one of them touch any of her special subjects, let alone her family.

She's already killed repeatedly to protect them. But she'd rather not waste valuable resources like Hunters, even weak ones. Even more, she'd rather not have to avenge her dear ones; she'd rather they just do what they're told and stay safe.

_ And if Candy Mandy is about to invade… I pray to my god and yours, little brother, that you learn to think  _ underground _ , rather than keep searching for the sky! _

Tony has been pushing the rules lately. Though he's only ten, he's every bit as smart as she was back then, before the Pulse. He's also incredibly loyal to her, and has the fierce pride of a lion.

That, and the most powerful armor in the world, will no more save him from death-- or in the long run, much worse-- at the hands of her fellow Hunters than running out to threaten them with his fists, wearing his Super Buddies pajamas. But he is too smart and too loyal to take simple  _ orders  _ on those matters.

Pointing out the facts, now… that works.

Paradoxically enough, the threat of death and worse than death that being a man grown will mean engages both her brother's pride and his intellect. "I know they would…"

She quirks an eyebrow. She suggested that he might think of her like those vicious bitches, just to make sure he remembers that she's not the only one who can loom in his life. Just because most Hunters are 'merely' half again his height, and not twice it.

Tony's a bright boy. He tilts his head to the left, his shoulders slump forward, and he sighs. "I know you won't… and I know they would," he repeats.

It's a reason she's proud of him; he thinks far further ahead than any other human or meta she knows. She hugs him with tight gentleness, holding him close against her broad right shoulder. His emotions read as easily to her as anyone else's, and she lets her instincts pull her actions along.

_ I'll do a lot more than just manipulate you to keep you from that fate, little bro. _

So she pops him up out of the chair in her hands. "So why you pushin' my miners _? _ " she asks, mock-offended. He sticks his tongue out at her while she holds him up, still kneeling. "What kinda nonsense are you feeding my 'facs, ya little dweeb?"

Smiling, she hefts him up into the air before he can do much more than splutter. "Liiiiita!" he yelps. It just takes a gentle push from her huge hands, and he's flying nearly all the way to the nine meter ceiling. She could move him within a millimeter of the battleplate without a chance of hurting him, but she makes sure that he's got more clearance than that and then some.

Still, she boosts Tony far enough up for the Mini-Moto's antigrav to engage, just a bit. "Nuh-uh!" she tells him. "I tol' you, don't you Lita me!" She bounces him up and down a few times, leaving him squealing and half-protesting, but mostly just laughing happily.

The smile that broadens over his face as he feels completely safe traveling roughly two stories to and from her hands makes it all worthwhile. Then she hugs him again, and smooths his hair back into place. "So messy," she whispers, and chuckles when he sticks his tongue out at her.

"None of that, neither, Tony," she tells him with a faux-haughty sniff. "But seriously. The world up there is  _ insane. _ You think I let even Engine Joan come with me up top?"

_ Not that way, anyway... _

"But you let us patrol UnderBay! And there's monsters down there you said could squish a Hunter!"

"I let  _ Joan, _ and eSurf patrol UnderBay."  _ Don't think I don't notice that sliding  _ us _ , bro. _ "In the most heavily armored and armed suits we've been able to come up with yet, followed by drones designed and monitored by…"

"Me."

"My super-smart baby brother, yep." Lita pokes him so gently she doesn't actually touch him, just lets air pressure register as though she did. "Who is handlin' the big guns to make sure my best buds come back alive… because he's here, in the central control, with access to all of them, and…"

Tony slumps forward more and nods. "And I don't have to worry about piloting, or personal defense."

_There's those Cardozo y Delgado brains, finally locking onto target. Maybe, just maybe, I might not have to worry so much._ She sighs, and hugs him carefully against her shoulder again. "Tony, those kaiju and Stealer scum are _big_. They're easy to detect, and most of 'em aren't nearly as fast as they are tough. Hunters, though? I mean, I look kinda pudgy, I know…"

"Siiiiis!" Tony protests. "You're  _ buff,  _ and  _ tough! _ " He hates it when she turns on the self-denigration.  _ So do I, but the better to manipulate ya with, bro. _

"And?"

"... and real fast." There's a sadness there, and fear, that she hates to see in anyone she loves, let alone the brother she'd die for and has killed other Hunters to protect. But if it keeps him thinking...

Lita smirks. "You rememberin' that time I field-stripped you right out of the Mini-Moto and those 'subtle' combining framework bots?"  _ And if not, you'd better be! I did that and kept every last circuit in place! _

He winces. "Yeah." She judges she doesn't have to spell out what a Hunter who  _ wasn't _ being careful could do.

"Okay," Lita says, and counts out points on her long fingers. "One. You are  _ not _ to try to build another direct power armor until you are six-fuckin'-teen." The curse word, oh-so-bad, gets him giggling, and not protesting the six long years she's sentencing him to.

"One and a half, you are  _ not _ gonna use that word in front of Momma, or she'll 'make' me close the lab to you."

He nods; they both know that since the Pulse, Lita has had problems with controlling some things. Even if the whole Plex thinks of her as a guardian bear at the door-- not the terrifying engine of rape and destruction they think of even her "friendly" vassal Hunters-- they understand that her language is one of those things she can't help.

But Lita and Tony both have the same opinion about what they'll do for Clementina and Alejandro.

_ Pretending we're still a normal family is the least of it. Don't think I don't know just how heavily armed the "helper" drones you build for Mama and Papa are, Tony. _ She approves, though, so she says nothing.

_ Besides, he needs to think like a hero to stay sane, even if the Age of Heroes is deader than the last Hunter to come sniffing around Central Fremont without a direct order from me. My fierce little guy. _

Hunters can regenerate from a lot. But they can also cancel out each other's regeneration with their strength. Lita is one of the strongest Hunters of them all, and not a one of even her sorority of ultra-powerful Hunters could come back from having their head stomped to paste.

Lita does not tolerate threats to her family. Ever. It's only been since Candy Mandy's little missive that she's been wondering how much damage  _ she  _ could take and still hold off those threats.

"Two," she continues, extending another finger. "If I catch you building said armor, or a drone designed to be able to follow beyond my claimed territory, I will lock you out of the system. Even out of the edutainment stuff, Tony. I'm not kidding, I will print  _ books _ and  _ board games _ for you, if I think you're trying to break the rules now."

That gets some rebelliousness. "But if I can cover Joan with drones…"

" _ No. _ " Lita rumbles, and it shakes the room, mussing his hair for her. Deliberately so, since that gets him rolling his eyes and not trying to come up with 'logic.' "Tony, you're defending our  _ home _ . You're not just patrolling my streets to watch out for looters or refugees. You're using bots that communicate constantly with  _ home. _ And every access panel is…?"

"A vector for Hunter senses to pin down our location."

"And the more points of reference a Hunter has?"

"The easier she can find where a hidden entrance is supposed to be."

_ Like I don't think-- no, like I don't  _ know _ Dragon Lian already knows where we are and how to get in. But once inside, the difference between Lian and some stupid two meter bitch with an acre to her name is… well. Two meters fits faster and Lian moves faster. So let's keep the one out I can keep out. _

Tony looks miserable now, and it makes her want to go up to the surface and kill every other Hunter there is, just so he can fly in the sky the way she once promised him. It certainly makes her want to scream defiance in Candy Mandy's teeth-- and daydream about getting a mutual defense treaty with  _ the _ best Hunters in all the world. As for Tony and his aspirations...

_ I'm just glad I said "when it's safe" about letting him fly a Moto suit without defining "safe." The thought of breaking even a pre-Pulse promise… _

Lita hugs him again. Just one of her arms is bigger than her brother now. She has to protect him. She  _ has  _ to! "I'd kill them all for you, Tony, I would," she whispers.

Where Clementina would be worried and Alejandro would be shocked, Tony understands their new world much better. He smiles. "Thanks, sis." Then he frowns. "But what about--"

  
Tony understands what Promises mean, too. She laughs, and rolls her eyes before replying. "Fine, fine, pain in my oversized rear." Much mussing of hair follows as she cheerfully says, "All but the ones who've sworn to me and I'd make them run escort for you."

"Aw, sis…" He throws his arms around as much of her massive shoulders as he can. He sniffles. "You  _ know _ Papa doesn't like it when you have to kill." Hugging across the chest is… awkward, now, and the shoulder is much closer to the core than just hugging around her arm would be.

"Yep, and that's point number three-- you have to be ready to take the lives of those kaiju and other UnderCreeps. Stealers man, eugh."

"Right?" Tony half-laughs, half-sniffles again. He's a child of the Pulse now, the decade of his life prior vanished within days of the Pulse itself. Being around Lita-- not to mention the drone video footage she  _ does _ let get past the censors-- has given everyone in the Plex at least dim mirrors of her instinctive hatred of Stealers.

"Right," she confirms. "You have to be  _ on task _ \-- and that includes sleeping and eating enough-- so that I can trust  _ Joan _ 's safety to you." Her brother adores and has always adored Engine Joan, who was Lita's mentor before the Pulse.

From just around the time Tony was born, actually. Her relationship with Lita may have changed since, but there's nothing that gets Tony prouder than knowing he's helping Joan. Except for whenever he can help Lita directly.

_ Or I let you think you're helping, anyway. _ "And there's four." She holds up all but her thumb and waves her fingers at him. "Which is?"

"I am not a Hunter. I wish I was!"

"Oh, Tony…" She hugs him tight. Only her complete control of her body lets her avoid weeping. It doesn't let her avoid having her accent thicken. "You don', hermanito. You jus' don'. Trust me…"

Somehow, Tony can always tell when she's hurting. He can't always tell when she's  _ serious _ about the things she says, or when she's joking. But somehow, her ten year old baby brother can tell what she hides from their parents, her subjects, and especially even rival Hunters-- when the pain of the Pulsed world makes her ache to her very soul.

He hugs with all his strength. Only her post-superhuman vibrational senses tell her that he's doing anything different than just touching her, but she knows he keeps up with the pilot's exercises Engine Joan started her on, a decade ago, and he's surprised even their weightlifting parents.

_ My sweet Tony, _ she thinks.  _ Can you imagine for one second what it was like waking up the night of the Pulse, my genius sib? Thinking of Joan as a piece of ass, thinking of you and Mama and Papa as tiny little ants, best kept safe in an underground ant farm like the Plex? _

_ You're smart, baby brother. Smarter than Joan. I hope you can't imagine. I really hope you can't. _

"I promise, Carmelita," he mumbles. "I promise I'll follow the rules, just… if there's any way to let things relax? Or that I can help more? Please? Tell me?"

She smiles, and pulls a handkerchief out of her pocket. Another gadget; it's self-cleaning. Her familiarity with hypertech and willingness to use it is a benefit of her time as a meta-genius; being able to push the bounds of super-science as she does on an hour by hour basis is one of the nicer perks of being smart even for a Hunter.

Obediently, Tony lets her clean the tears from his eyes, and sniffles into the handkerchief. She had to make a self-cleaner; her senses transmit every detail of the bad stuff as well as the good. She tucks it away, and kisses the top of his head. "I will look for a way to let you have more fun, Tony,  _ I _ promise you that."

They can both feel the weight of her promise clicking into place. Even their parents, remarkably fair and even-handed as they are, have had to break promises from time to time. He knows Lita never will, and that makes it easier for him to both accept her word and keep his.

Especially since he  _ did _ miss the fact that she didn't promise she'd find such a way in the near-- or conceivable future. She hopes she'll have him conditioned to think down, rather than up; to think Joan, rather than Lita, when he's looking for a way to get active. As smart and strong-willed as he is, she is the Hunter, and he is not.

"Okay. I think we're good." For all he is not a Hunter, Lita is fairly happy with just a simple promise. He's never broken one to her, either. Not deliberately. She's pretty sure that if she checked, he'd have some reason why what he had been doing wasn't breaking the rules.

_ I gotta teach you to obey the spirit, not just the word, lovey, _ she thinks.  _ There's only so much irritation I can take. _ The last time Tony pushed the rules, she set up the AI filters that made sure that even real-time video feed shows what  _ she _ wants it to.

Like what she plans on doing today. Not a  _ hint _ of that does she let show now, nor will she allow even a single frame of it reach Tony. Let alone the rest of her friends and family.

It would only panic them.

She hugs Tony gently. "How're you on fatigue poisons?" she asks. Keeping it technical has always been the way to engage his brain.

He grimaces. "Too high," he says with a sigh. "It's dropping my efficiency." She quirks an eyebrow, and he blushes. "Okay, okay! I'll go to bed."

"And  _ shower _ , Tony. I don't want you gettin' like those Slowe brothers."

"Fine! Fine! Just don't-- AUGH!"

She tickles him. "No fair! No fair! No fair using nerve points!" he yelps in between laughs. She does it anyway; it'll help take some of the sting out of laying down the law.

And it will exhaust him further, leaving him less likely to try to watch the video stream in real-time. Since she intends on completely using programmed models to project what she'd want him to see rather than what she's going to do, she doesn't want to push his big, brilliant brain.

_ Time enough for him to be raised to understand what I must do when he's older. _

_ Older by a few months, anyway. _ It makes her smile. He's such a willing boy, after all; he wants very much to make her happy and to help her.

It's a cheery thought. If she has those months, and so do they, there're all sorts of possibilities. Possibilities that will see her wasting so much less time massaging her family's sensibilities. They'll just accept what she must do, and be happier.

Which will mean accepting yet another new normal. She estimates that within a month or two she won't have to convince anyone except Tony or maybe her parents that the only one who really matters…

Is her. Even with some padding for her talented and stubborn kin, her family should be easily moldable to think of her needs and requirements as being  _ normal  _ within three months. No more than fourteen weeks at the most.

Most Hunters don't bother rearranging the minds of the human herd to accept them as the new normal. Most Hunters can't; it takes a delicate touch. Most Hunters wouldn't, either, getting off on indiscriminate pain and suffering.

But Lita Delgado is what she prefers to think of as a fixer. Not in the criminal sense, of course not! She fixes machines, societies, and people to do what she wants them to, and to do it well.

When she's being more honest, or not referring to her family, she calls her special talent what other Hunters would:

Breaking.

Which is ridiculous, of course.  _ It's short for slavebreaking. Sure, I do that too, but Mama and Papa are no more my slaves than the Williams' little terrier is a  _ slave _. Still part of the family, just… smaller. Yappier. _

_ Controlled. _

Having recharged her heart and hopes, Lita hugs Tony again and sends him on his way. Meanwhile, she heads out to the main hangar. A quick film of nanobots over her body will protect her clothing from the saltwater, and then she'll be able to go up to the surface to feed.

_ It'll be so much nicer in three months. I'll still want to swim once in a while, but. _

Three months is when she's sure that she'll have even the denizens of the Plex, the ones she cares about, thinking that her feeding is normal. It's when her father won't see a problem with her bringing home some men-- three or four at a time, wearing leashes, collars, and very little each.

Men and women both.

Three months is when she estimates-- with rather finer precision of weeks, days, and hours-- that Tony will be ready to treat her Hungers as simply being another burden his amazing older sister has to deal with. When her mother will simply laugh and tell her to eat up well.

She isn't going to fuck them in front of her specials like she does up on the streets of Fremont. Certainly not in front of her family. But her mother will treat them like the property they are-- like pets, to be fed up and watched out for… not pitied or sympathized with when they take a rolled up newspaper to the nose.

Or ass.

Lita's family is smart, strong, and tough-minded, just like her.

But Lita is a Hunter, and they… are pets, too. Just a different kind.

\---

She enjoys the swim to the surface. It lets her stretch her perceptions, and swimming up from the bottom of the bay doesn't take more than half a second. Atlanteans mostly stay away from  _ her _ coast; she's heard the vicious bastards were terrified of Mandy even before the Pulse, but they've declared all-out war on Hunters since.

Lita can see through water as well as anything but solid stone. It's just… distorted, somehow. Something magical about it. But she learned how to compensate for that within days.

That she  _ can't _ see Lemuria anymore-- when she used to do exchange patrol duty there before the Pulse is... intriguing.

And annoying _. _

So every time she gets a chance to swim, she takes in as much sense data as she can. She doesn't know if they're using magic or tech or both to hide themselves, but she  _ wants _ them.

It offends Lita that they can hide from her. Offends her almost as much as a certain  _ offer _ from Candy Mandy frightens her. But Atlantis is the long term. Candy Mandy, the short.

_ I need to get my head clear. _

Hips swaying and shimmying naturally, she steps out into the airlock. A button is depressed, and the pressure equalizes. The water surrounds her. It's convenient that she doesn't need to breathe.

Walking out into the water is no more difficult than walking through the Plex. Easier, in many ways; the deployment bay is under fairly tall, deep overhang, using the natural rock to conceal the entrance. The tunnels here were always there; the pressure equalization just floods them so she doesn't have to deal with transition sensorium distortion more than twice-- in the flooding, and exiting at the top.

She tastes the world in the ocean. It's like scent, without breathing, like taste without opening her mouth. She knows how many whales are in the pod going south from here, far, far from shore. She knows how many fish school by-- she can detect how many  _ bacteria _ are in the entire Pacific Ocean, and other single-celled creatures beside.

Wriggling a bit, she enjoys the feeling of immense pressure like a light lover's hug, cuddling her to not much more effect than Tony did. As vast as the Pacific is, she knows the power within her is so much greater. She's "only" a bit over an eighth the length of a female blue whale, but she's got more power in her pinkie toes than all the pods of all the cetaceans in all the seas-- including the metas who share their power.

_ Speaking of toes… _

She's out from the tunnels and on open seabed now. A simple flex of her toes propels her faster than the fastest torpedo; an easy twist of her hips, and she spins through the water without disturbing it even so much as most other Hunters could follow.

There's very little that can out-sneak a Hunter's perceptions. The key is not to be noticed in the first place, which is why all the stealth tech Tony can think of is worthless; whichever spectrum or reception he finds a way to evade almost always requires being "brighter" or "louder" in another. In short-- attention-grabbing.

In less than a second, she's popped out of the water. The spin stops, and her leap carries her further into the air, evaporating the water off the nanofilm coating. The steam would make a volcanic vent seem mild.

To Lita, it barely even tingles. It doesn't even ruffle the nanofilm-- mostly. What it  _ does _ do is shrink the film and the clothes beneath good and tight. The way that would confuse her father and worry her mother.

Her shirt pulls so tight the extra puffiness of her areolae makes a visible bulge over each tit, just before it gets to her can-sized nipples. Which are, of course, even harder than the crinkly flesh surrounding them.  _ Squeeze _ goes her reinforced shirt and  _ gush _ goes her pussy.

Feeding Hungers that she's only barely been able to suppress. "Oh,  _ fuck _ , that's nice," she purrs, licking her tongue in the air and wriggling her bare toes. Why would she bother with shoes?

Just like she doesn't bother to wear panties, nor does she give a shit if the "citizens"-- serfs, really-- of Fremont and the Bay Area see her pleasure dampening at her cleft. It's a public service, really. An obedient little human who sees their Hunter swinging her hips around should be kneeling.

One that sees the stain of femmejuices should be doing so with their head down and their neck bowed, ready to be seized-- ready to be used. Lita prefers convenience.

So some dampness remains even after the heat, especially between the thighs-- and it's growing. Inhaling deeply and pushing up on her tippy-toes, Lita takes a moment to wiggle her heavy-cheeked ass around. It's pleasure, it's feeding, but it's more than that-- a way to try to banish her worries over Mandy and Lian, the so-called Candy Girls, from her mind.

_ I just starved myself for four hours, _ she reminds herself.  _ I'm not thinking as well as I could be. _ She's pretty far gorged on sex and savagery anyway, but the strange, hungry Drives quickly convert themselves into power… and then whatever preternormal "stomach" must be filled to quiet the burning need…

Empties.  _ Taking with it my ability to think clearly. I may be having territorial reactions to the email that are unwarranted. _

_ … The moon may also be secretly the home of an angsty and adorable pegacorn, too, but I'm not going to hold my orgasms waiting for someone else that horny to show up. I need to take care of myself. _

So Lita luxuriates in the squeeze of suddenly tighter clothing. Loves the way her shapely megamelons are wrapped and squeezed with the fabric, the fit tight enough when it relaxes that even the bottom of her breasts is perfectly (and pertly) outlined. It pulls up her shirt, too, showing a hint of the top of her ass in the back-- the jeans deliberately not coming up all the way-- and showing off the 'softness' of her belly.

_ Well, there is a layer that's something like my boobs. Nice and jiggly until I tighten up. _ She throws back her hands and wriggles her proud arms, letting the feel of sun on her face wash away her concerns like the tightness of her tee and jeans.

Pulling back like this tightens up her triceps. They're already so big they look like three-dimensional playing card suit clubs-- by forcing them to pinch along the shirt, it pulls the sleeves tighter, rather than pushing them back to the shoulder.

Slowly, Lita rotates her arms upwards. Her enormous biceps, bigger than a man's head or more, begin to push themselves out of the solid smooth telephone-pole thickness of her arm's rest state. "Mmm.  _ Strength. _ " The word is a long, drawn-out groan as she flexes the front and the back, the upper and the lower-- all of her arms showing off in increasingly grandiose bulges.

The burn pushes through them from tension of muscle against muscle. Her forearms fold back at the elbows, running through her hair just below the line of the bandana. But always, always, she pulls at her shirt with the bulging muscles.

_ Mm _ hmm! _ The way my nips are getting hard, I could tear this shirt right off. Who'd stop me from walking topless? _

_ No-one, but that would give the game away a bit with  _ Fusion Fighter _.  _ She forces her personal disgust to keep her bulges in line, juxtaposing real pleasure with what feeble possibilities a human whose entire core is thinner than her tricep alone could do. Her torso is tugged at, squeezed and squished where there are squishy bits, and worshipfully caressed where the hardness shows through.

_ It's a start. _

She dips a bit at the knee and tenses up her glutes. "There we go," she whispers. She has a feeling like she's being watched, but as her advanced senses fail to pick up any Hunters close by, she mentally shrugs. If one of her subjects is hiding behind stone and peaking around to masturbate and watch her…

… she'll catch them anyway, and have her fun then. So back she goes to the flex.

The squeeze pumps up each immense muscle, the striated mass displacing the lovely, lush fat atop, forcing definition as well as expansion in. Unlike with her shirt, she doesn't pin her jeans in place; instead, she lets the action of her bulging, flexing hips pull the legs upwards, tightening around her damp sex.

It makes her bite her lip and shake her neck and ass wildly. " _ Fuck, _ I love tight," the ultra-curvy Hunter moans. Her shoulders careen; her breasts wobble and wiggle faster and faster. Her bandana flaps a bit, but her hands are in place to tie it tighter again.

_ Convenient! _

Between the tightness of her garments and the vast muscularity created by her flex, her back looks like the side of a mountain that had been smashed down into an avalanche, perhaps by her little pinkie toe. Pushed into definition by the power flexing, the rugged expanse of her back looks like the raw bulges of the earth, and the striated bulk of her butt like the new foothills created that way.

With so much assfat, even in a flex like this, there's still a  _ lot _ of wobble on Lita's frame. But she likes it that way; it's only in the jiggliness  _ over _ her hardness that she can really feel a pinch. Even from herself. A long, slow sigh erupts from her lips as the pleasure starts to dull the edge of her sex Hunger.

She makes a quick series of flexing pumps of her hips, squeezing her glutes tight in between each. "Wish I owned someone strong enough to do this to me by hand, mm…" The perky globes wobble and wiggle, the lush fat over tight glutes making beach balls look positively sedate and small in comparison.

_ Hey, Fusion Fighter's supposed to have powers similar to his poor, gene-mixed cousin Grant. Grant Emerson. _ She whips her tongue from one side of her lips to the other and flexes all the harder, gasping a little, "Ahhh," moan. _ I wonder just how strong I can make him. _

The steam-clean and leap have made her muscle car-decorated t-shirt and already tight jeans squeeze tight around her lush curves. Volume (and her genius for materials science) does what an army of meta supersoldiers couldn't: compresses her tits so hard the super-sensitive flesh beneath almost hurts.

It can't quite get to "hurts," of course. The tightness of the nanofilm gets nearer to it than mere fabric could ever manage. No matter what hypertech secrets she wove into it.

No, this is gentle, weak, like a Kryptonian's embrace or being at ground zero for an ICBM. But it has  _ feeling. _ And that's what she needs.

It's just not enough.

"Head still ain't clear yet." Lita shrugs. "Well, I needed to go Hunting anyway."

She strokes strong fingers over the glorious plush of her enormous rack. There's an electrical sense of pleasure as her own strength compacts the sensitive softness.  _ Softness… Horny, are we, girls? _

Her breasts really do sometimes feel like they have a mind of their own. Early in her day, when the Hunger from gently tending to her family's need for normalcy has her grumpy, her tits always seem to give her just a little bit more  _ oomph _ when she rubs things-- or people-- against them. Like they're specifically goading her to give the full-body titjobs she loves so much.

_ Okay, okay, so it's really me enjoying how good my boobs feel when I use them to their full potential. _ She smiles. "Hunting, yeah…" She groans, dragging her fingers hard over the black fabric of her top, tracing the lines of the Mustang Cobra artwork. "There's always  _ someone _ who'll 'volunteer' to be, uh,  _ petted  _ by my pretty titties."

The thought pleases. It pleases immensely. Her smile widens. It's still the shape of a smile, an ear to ear beaming not unlike the bright grin she bestows upon particularly clever denizens of the plex.

It's just deeper. Shows more of her teeth. And the light in her eyes isn't approving. It's a burning fire, an intensity looking for fuel to devour-- or explode.

Lita's feral smile is terrifying; even her most brainbroken fucktoys would be quivering-- and aroused to the point of pain-- if they saw it. Most people don't see the gleam before she pounces. A deep groan breaks the smile, but the light in her eyes is no less bright.

"Yeah, that's the ticket," she purrs. "Let's see. Who's been naughty? I'll make an example of 'em before Tony's drones find them." Laughing, she adds, "My big ol' boobs versus being lined up at a church or courthouse for processing into my labor force… I'm sure whoever I pick will be honored by my  _ personal _ touch."

Tony's drones are usually good enough to deal with looters and human/metahuman territorial violation. They've got some decently effective nonlethal loadouts, but anyone he captures, she has decided to carefully maintain and rehabilitate-- chew toys for her baby brother, of sorts.

Her love for her family-- and her frequent satiation of her Drives for sex and sadism, plus masochism when she can-- make her think of her family as closer to being real people…

_ But I'm the Hunter and they aren't, so that lockup is basically another way to keep my kid brother from chewing on my metaphorical shoes. Fuck, I wish I had a cousin or something who was a Hunter. It feels so lonely sometimes, no matter how loveable of a nerd Tony is. _

Because, of course, she is alone.

Lita is so much more powerful than even the hundred-odd Hunters she's taken oaths of vassalage from that while they count as people to her, she doesn't see them as companionship.

She is an  _ Outlier _ , one of the fifteen known super-Hunters whose strength, speed, intellect, combat acuity and so forth are transcendent. Armies of their lesser sisters could be used to conquer galaxies, but Lita could take them all on-- presuming they stayed to fight her directly, and didn't go around her.

_ That's my nightmare. Some tagteam putas trying to run interference on me and kidnap my fam while I was knocking the sense out of their mates... _

Her Hunting doesn't, of course, require  _ following _ tracks while she's aboveground. Her senses are so acute that even mountains in the way don't stop her from "seeing" radiation bounced  _ around _ such obstacles. Only thick stone and deep, packed earth can block her.

There's not even so much of that in Fremont proper. Even the winding hills of nearby San Francisco, the city like a topographic map of her thigh in flexion, present no obstacle to her Hunt. Her perceptions give her a total mastery of the area she's formally claimed; in her territory, she knows when anything is out of place.

She's not surprised Fusion Fighter isn't out yet. It's not quite fifteen past eleven yet, and while Lita or Engine Joan would be ready for an ambush hours before, the stupid, piggish metahuman-- a brick and blaster combo-powers asshole-- never shows up until he absolutely has to-- twelve, as he agreed with Joan.

Lita is fine with that. It gives her enough time to go find some tasty morsel, wreck them enough to get her sadism and sex Hungers fed, and recover her clothes. Her bare toes wiggle with the thought.  _ The more Hungry I am when I  _ deal _ with Fusion Fighter, the longer it will take me to break him. _

She smiles, chewing on her lower lip again. Anticipation is an appetizer for  _ those _ Hungers.  _ I need to be teasing, taunting, to rape that one's mind and ravish his emotions until he goes from calling me, "that fat, defective monster," to "mighty mistress" even in his own head. Just smacking him around like he deserves will make him feel persecuted, noble. _

_ It shouldn't take more than a few minutes to ruin a lifetime's worth of arrogant dickwadness, of course, but I want to get him  _ done _ and in the Kennels. That way my head will be clear enough to think about the Candy Girls, and my newest little bitch will be as safe as I can make him without letting him near my family. _

She smiles. That restriction won't last, will it?  _ Three months, and I'll be able to connect the Kennels to the Plex. That will be nice, yes it will… _

Her territorial sense flickers.  _ Ah, there we go. _ Tony's drones are already escorting some of the usual wretched wanderers to her collection points.

She doesn't turn most of those into fucktoys. They're much more useful as labor, and sometimes there's a desperate scientist, engineer, construction worker, or so forth, who heard the rumors that Fremont still has a functioning government-- and might even have some safe havens from Hunters.

Lita spread those rumors through her own people. They've gone quite far in the past three weeks, since she laid down the law in Fremont and put up the signage. But the signs are promises. The ones who don't cause a fuss become subjects like anyone else.

The ones who try to avoid Tony's drones, like the tall, furtive man who's moving past a slightly forested park to a currently empty commercial park…

Well. They get what's promised, too

  1. ALL PROPERTY IS HELD THROUGH THE GRANT OF MOTO-LITA. VIOLATION OF PROPERTY WILL BE TREATED AS AN IMPINGEMENT UPON HER PERSONAL PRIVILEGES



Lita does so enjoy  _ justification _ . Everything should be justified, ordered… proper.

Even crushing a man half to death (or more) between her horny, horny titties.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time. She's moved away from her family, from the safe place where she can remember what being a hero was like without disgust. Now she has to feed.
> 
> Far across her little realm, a scavenger-- Mikey-- has pushed in around the edges. Sneaking in, during the daytime when most of her property still cowers beneath the changed Earth. Clever timing.
> 
> If he only had humans to worry about. In the time of Hunters? Deadly.
> 
> Jiggly, jovial, and just as sadistic as she is bouncy, Lita takes him in with her sensorium. Sight, sound, feel, scent, and taste, she has him, inside and out. Thinks he's strong-- capable.
> 
> Makes him a better meal. Oh, she doesn't devour him-- physically. His pain, his terror, and in the end, his submission...
> 
> That'll be enough. So she leaps across the town, slamming into him with her gargantuan curves and juggling him around them. His body is nothing but a plaything and juicebox for her-- just a little squeeze to get the good stuff out.
> 
> It's time for him to learn. She's big, he's small; she's strong, he's weak-- she's real.
> 
> He's just a phantasm, flickering on the edge of a soap-bubble, and the only way to be real is to matter to her.

Monday, 11:18 am

Moto-Lita is Hungry. The horny, sadistic Hungers that drive her even more than the vast majority of her Hunter kin are always searching for more. More climaxes. More cruelty. More  _ toys _ .

And someone has just violated her territory. Coming past clearly marked directions about what to do if he needs help. She can see him easily from Coyote Hills. She's not too far from where the Bayview and No Name trails meet; he's been travelling along a shaded route on Fremont Boulevard, way on the other side of the old city boundaries.

_ Michael, huh? _ Lita can read his driver's license from here; it's not particularly unflattering to his face. That may be something he regrets.

The absurdity of it bothers her.  _ Why you keep a wallet after the fucking world ends… All those cards are just empty weight, tarado. You think you're gonna wake up and your Subway club card is gonna get three more punches? Feh. _

Her target is alone. That doesn't bother this Hunter. It just makes things easier.

If nothing else, the sense of isolation and withdrawal from human contact will skew his reactions in her favor.

She doesn't need easy, though. Not much. She hops closer. All it takes is a careful whipping gesture with her hands as she moves, and the air itself parts for her. No sonic boom.

She's closer now. On top of one of the commercial buildings. Savoring how she Hunts Michael. Not that she needs an edge.

At three meters and twenty-eight centimeters, Lita is half again the height of Shaquille O'Neal, who has played his last season for the LA Lakers just this year. It's the last season for any basketball, as it happens.

She's far bigger than the biggest name in basketball, too-- if you stood Shaq and Andre the Giant side by side, they  _ might _ get to about the breadth of her hips. Her shoulders aren't much behind. Even for a Hunter, she's huge.

She's unusual for a Hunter, though. Some of the humans in Fremont-- her city, just like this is very definitely her neighborhood-- think she's soft, because her muscles are covered in a layer of fat.

They see the extra weight making her tits, Everests to the usual Hunter mammary mountains, packed in on her ripe, round hips, a soft, slight tummy, and the  _ relative _ lack of definition over her weightlifter-style massiveness, and they think she's weaker than the rest.

They see the inviting warmth of Lita's tan skin; the expressive, brown eyes; the medium-length, black hair, usually in a bandana-- and suddenly, they forget about the fact that her visible musculature would  _ still _ have made a gold-winning Olympic weightlifter's eyes bug out.

Just like Mikey's will; that's one of the benefits! She's decided he's a Mikey, so Mikey he shall be. They're all her projects, one way or another.

Somehow, they forget that she's twenty-eight centimeters taller than the usual tallest range for her sister Hunters. Technically, she's even taller than Candy Mandy. She's not stupid enough to think that means she's stronger than  _ that _ Hunter, though.

Lita isn't like them. Humans. The ones who don't see a six-pack when she bares her midriff, so they forget that it shows up when she flexes. Of course, the ones who see her  _ really _ flex… never forget again.

Technically they don't forget so long as they live, anyway.

So, no. This Hunter, even less than any Hunter, doesn't need  _ easy _ when it comes to raping a human. One of the largest and most powerful of the immense, ultra-muscled, insatiably sadistic women empowered by the worldwide energy burst known as the Pulse, this Hunter can easily have her way with other  _ Hunters _ . A human?

_ Despreciable _ . She dismisses Mikey with the thought; he's there to be shaped and painted into what she wants; raw material, nothing more. She suspects he'll react to the peppering of Spanish just as badly as usual.

Honestly, Lita has been deliberately adding it to her speech, little strokes to, well, accentuate. Her family's been in the US for generations; they barely spoke Spanish at home before the Pulse. But she's noticed that it makes her prey, men especially, break in the head.

Loneliness or antisocial tendencies plus cognitive dissonance make the rest of the equation even easier. When you shove pleasure in, and they don't think of themselves in terms of their social group? When you force pain upon them, and you sound like a stereotype from their porn? It practically makes their brains break all on its own.

And she likes breaking them in the head and heart forever. She's good at it too, deft, in a fun way. The language thing is just another instrument, but it's surprising how effective it is.

Even before the  _ other _ perks of a Hunter come into play.

_ Like it was the half-Spanish not-quite-pidgin that was raping them. Most of them don't even notice when I use it wrong, either. _

_ Still. Fun. ¿Despreciable? Pitiful _ . _ Don nadie. Nobody. _

That's probably why he's here, alone.

He thinks he's beneath notice, and he thinks the people of this neighborhood are stupid. Many of them go out as early as dusk. He waited until mid-morning, even, just to make sure no one was up late.

Elegant cheekbones-- for now-- make the weaselly cast to Mikey's features roguishly charming. Perhaps he thinks a smile will get him out of trouble. She'll take far more than his smile, before she's done.

He's tasty, though. Not just in looks. Lita can smell him from here.

Loneliness and disgust make for such a heady pre-dinner aroma. A fine setting. And fear and smugness to be broken.

Of course, of her total chemical range, two hundred and forty-seven meters is nothing. It's really more like tasting him directly. The self-satisfaction that he thinks is daring, laced with the fear he thinks is reasonable caution-- it makes her mouth water. She can't wait until her tongue's on him directly.

For the fear to brace itself into terror. For terror to set into panic. And for panic, well--

_ Heh. It's a good thing he can't see me smile. Of course, he can't see me at all, but I can definitely see him. Pretty little thing. _

"Little," of course, is just what men are to Lita. To be fair, Mikey's tall-- for a human. Not too bulky-- even for a human. Not skinny, though. If he was too thin… he'd have followed the signs, and then, she'd have left him alone.

More like wiry, but probably didn't have much padding even before the Pulse. Just enough for some decent roundness to the arms and legs and ass. Dark brown hair. A little tan. Still bathes when he can, a nice touch. Doesn't otherwise look like anyone she knows.

Pretty green eyes seal the deal. Pretty green eyes that will look so good when they're red-lined with agony and bulging from the pressure. Acquisitive now; soon, to be lost in her.

Kind of handsome, Mikey is, with the disappointing sort of smugness that really shouldn't be on the face of any man, or woman for that matter, in the post-Pulse world. Not a  _ human _ , anyway. 

Not even a metahuman, which might at least be an asterisk on his life. The conceited little grin on his face detracts from his lovely cheekbones, for example, though she likes how his tight body looks when he's moving.

Weaselly. Almost squirmy. It's a good sign, for her designs.

_ I suppose the stupid smugness is probably about how smart he thinks he is. Fits with the weaselly. The ones that think they've got things figured out almost make it  _ too _ easy. And it doesn't make his eyes less pretty. _

A nice butt, too. Grabbable. Tight, as humans go. Of course, at little over half her height and much less than half her breadth in the shoulder, she thinks of Mikey's whole body as grabbable.

Pretty lips, but she doesn't want to spend the time riding his face. A nineteen centimeter dick, which would be acceptable, if she cared about that at all today. It's not much, on her scale, but it'd be enough, if that was what she wanted.

That's not how he's going to please Lita. It's almost a shame; uncut, decently juicy with only a slight curve and some nice texture. Cocks don't tend to come out of what she has in mind undamaged.

_ I've got plenty of pets in the Kennels with fatter, anyway; and even a few longer. Why should I bother for Mister Despreciable here? Fuck, I wanted an excuse to  _ dick _ around in the bio lab, anyway! _

Mikey's out during daylight. Even here, her people are only just starting to consider living daylight hours again. It's stupid.

Not his stupid; humans in general. He's got enough on his own to be blamed for without taking on his species.

There's no reason to only come out at night. Moto-Lita usually finds it easier to take prey then; the world is no less brilliant or comprehensible to her. But humans think of darkness as concealing. So they hate to come out during the day.

She almost hopes he'll survive, this man. It's a relief to see that  _ someone _ understands. But almost isn't good enough.

There are three reasons that Lita is hunting Mikey.

The first is raw, unadulterated  _ irritation. _ Since the Pulse, she's found that her new powers and new body leave her constantly irritated. By everything except her family. She's observed her new… kin… and their tendency towards swift tempers and perfectionism, so she knows it's just as much a part of them as the Hungers themselves.

The night of the Pulse, Lita looked at the world, and realized it wouldn't do. The messiness. The chaos. The stupidity. She has absolutely no patience for it any more. Not now that she's so strong.

Her family get an exception because when she's with them, the Hungers whimper and return to their cage. Her perfectionism shrugs, and takes a nap.  _ I even remember they're almost people, and that their feelings are important. Which is critical, because if I forget that the  _ rest  _ of my people have feelings, I'll just be another cackling, gigantic madwoman. _

_ I'm building something here, something that will  _ work. _ And little shits like Mikey coming in and looting the stores I want them to work and stealing the things I want them to care about-- taking away  _ my _ levers on their brains? _

_ Oh no. Mami's not havin' that. _

She knows Mikey isn't here for a refuge. If he was, he'd have followed the damn signs. So he's an irritant, and Lita has very, very little patience for irritants anymore.

Especially decently athletic irritants who can be rubbed out while rubbing one out, no?

Oh yes.  _ Especially _ irritants that will look and sound and smell and feel and taste  _ so _ good when she has him squirming, squealing, and screaming. Begging for his life. Crying out for mercy that will never come.

Just before those sweet lips tremble and drool, begging for more pain.

Secondly, Lita's hunting Mikey because this is her territory, and he's disrupting the design. The reason that people come out as early as dusk around here is because she's killed, chased off, or vassalized every other Hunter who's come within twenty kilometers. She doesn't permit any gangs here, either, and there certainly aren't any looters.

_ Other than Mikey here. But I guess you have to survive to loot, to be a looter. _

If he was looking for shelter, he'd have followed the signs. If he was looking for food, he'd have followed the signs. If he was looking for family members, he'd  _ have followed the damn signs. _

Lita spent quite a lot of time-- several seconds, which is honestly several years for any Hunter, let alone this one-- making sure the signs were clear and concise. Welcoming even. Of course, she did that so on the one hand, she'd have decent little toys shivering in centralized locations-- there're two new families from just last night.

And on the other, so that she'd have plenty of jackass, weaselly bitches around to Hunt. Just like Mikey! But he could have  _ read the signs _ . They're posted on every street corner.

She has an easier time reading her prey's life for the last week. A loner-- he clearly hasn't slept well, no-one to watch his back. A looter-- not badly fed, has a few knives and a crowbar, and his pack's full of odds and ends, not targeted scavenging. No scent of blood on the knives, not yet-- but he's got the attitude.

So many things about him. So many things his body tells her. His possessions. The traces of the world on his skin. So many things they say.

_ So many things I don't give a shit about. _

And finally? Lita is hunting Mikey because he's convenient. There are other "eligible" men and women around, of course. Like her real target for the day.

But she wants to get the edge off before she culminates her current special project. And he's convenient.

If she wasn't in the mood for a special treat, she might have just roughed him up and tossed him out. But she's been a good girl-- by her standards. She's kept her word. She's limited her cruelty, which she must inflict to survive, within the terms she's set. But that means she's Hungry, today.

And Mikey is, indeed, convenient. Tiny little big man, tautly muscled as men go, but enough soft shape to his ass and shoulders to sell her on his prettiness. Short brown hair it's going to be all sorts of fun to muss.

Wrigglable little body, almost custom-built to be used like this. She memorizes his DNA, mitochondria, and extrapolates the biochemical profile of his mother's womb. Maybe one day she'll build her own, and having those limber legs and almost double-jointed arms-- ah, the only thing worth remembering about Mikey.

How much fun he'll be when she's literally crushing him to get her rocks off.

It's time to feed.

He's just starting to decide which building to try when she skips up to him. She likes skipping; her plush bits are still shimmying  _ so _ tasty-like when she arrives. More importantly, by cutting the nearly two-hundred and fifty meter leap into five skimming skips, she does less damage to  _ her _ roads and  _ her _ buildings.

"¡Hola, Mikey!" she chirps, hammering his brain from sound one. "Kinda rude, are we?"  _ Are muttered curses and screams of agony polite greetings? _

_ … _ She considers it while his lithe, athletic limbs flail and he gets the most  _ adorable _ wide-eyed look of shock and horror. Jaw dropped, in what might be a nice smile someday, when he learns to properly appreciate the pain.

_ It's kinda flattering. Maybe once we get to know each other, then I'll let him flirt pretty some more. _

Arrival is a bit of a twisting, scooting leap. She uses the twist to bleed off more kinetic energy, trying to keep her hand light-- and her target alive and wriggling. Time to add some pain to the mix of shock and fear and up-ended assumptions.

_ Fortunately, I just happen to have some pain for him right here. In my butt.  _ The spin lightly taps just the wobbly padding of her teardrop ass into him and sends him crashing into a wooden posterboard sign.

One of hers, actually. The ones she made, that is. Everything around here belongs to her, but she gets a happy little giggle about throwing him in between lines four and five:

(4) ANY ENTRANCE TO OTHER BUILDINGS EN ROUTE TO THE SANCTUARY ARE FORBIDDEN. YOU WILL BE SEEN.

_ BONK _ goes Mikey, followed by several bones going  _ crunch _ , and then he's back towards her with his mind already starting to crack around the edges.

(5) IF YOU ARE STARVING OR OTHERWISE IMPAIRED, BEG ON YOUR WAY. YOU WILL BE HEARD.

From that, he drops down into her waiting arms, fit body already battered as it squishes against her padded layer of plush. Almost snuggly, adding emotional whiplash to physical. "Bank shot!" she cries cheerfully.

She waits for a polite response. Rule #7: COURTESY IS EXPECTED. YOU WILL BE JUDGED.

But Mikey… didn't read the signs. His brain isn't in good shape from the kinetic shock, too, plus the fuckery she's already started. The dilation of his pupils, the sudden dryness of his mouth and the sweat on his skin tell her the usual.

He's cracking. Time to crush. Her arms flex, the layer of plush atop them suddenly displaced by huge bulges and stony hardness.

He's compacted in, tighter and tighter. She licks her lips, swallowing heavily, and groaning while she waits. "Too early for names, maybe? Eh, maybe you'd prefer don nadie instead?"

_ Most of 'em prefer to be little don nadies. Little nobodies they think I won't remember. Like I could ever forget. _

Lita waits, while she judges him. Him, and his tiny body. Really, what more could you say about the Age of Heroes, the Time of Men, that they considered someone like  _ him _ to be tall?

It's not like being a tiny little thing makes him less cute! His slender, lightly curved shoulders, flat hips and at least lightly toned legs-- they'll all make him so much more useful for his true purpose in life.

He's still just sobbing and shaking around in her arms. And while she appreciates him shaking his little moneymaker for her, she's not here for his ass. She grabs it though, and squeezes hard.

"Augh! Please!" Mikey whines as she leaves a pretty circle of bruises on his slightly squishy butt.  _ That ain't how you say thank-you for being decorated, Mikey. Wait until I tell you to beg for more abuse. _

She's disappointed. Almost none of them know how to behave-- polite little mansluts read the signs, after all-- but that's not an excuse.

_ Bitch could at least say hello back. Oh well… _ She smirks.  _ He's gonna  _ be _ nobody if he can't get at least a  _ little _ more courtesy anyway. _

Her stocky, fat-curved arms are like death. Inescapable. Fear whips him, even if not a tenth of how hard she careened him off the sign.

Instantly, it spices his scent deliciously. His writhing body thrashes, squirming him against her T-shirt. She rather likes the picture, even if her boobs are now rather bigger than the classic Ford Cobra's tires. Her nipples are as hard as her biceps, chiselling into him as his panicked body bounces from immense tit to immense tit.

As nice as the electric warmth of his squirming over her colossal rack is, it's not a courteous reply. No, the poor fool is already suffering multiple fractures, and all he does to reply is scream out, "Fuck no no NO!"

_ There we go. Instant insanity, just swirl in headfucking. _ The pain and the fear and the boobjob he's giving her are enough to get her panties quite wet.

The setting is in place, but...

But it's not following the rules. She shakes her head.  _ A disappointment, just like I wanted. The better to break you with, my dear don nadie. _

Time for  _ instruction. _ "Hola means  _ hello, _ Mikey," she says sternly. It's no work at all to flip him over in her arms, laying his wildly careening body across her left breast.

Dizziness is added to the stew of mental and physical dissonance, not to mention another flare of pain. One big hand curls around his waist, and she swats his already bruised ass three times. One for rudeness, two for flinching.

Women tend to have jigglier butts, until you get into the cute chubbies, but there's something so fun about drumming on the "tautness" of a man's ass. Leaving your mark. The dumb little weasel is even clenching his butt for her!

_ Estúpido. _ Mikey really is. Just like a man-- never listens, just shouts. "Let me go!" he sobs.

_ Pitiful, like I said. Kinda too bad I don't have any pity at all. _ She licks her lips… and then licks Mikey's forehead, nice and slow.  _ Mmm… panic sweat. Just a hint of tears. Fucking delicious. _

"Let me go! Fuck you, let me go! Let me go!" The howling continues. It bores her before the second 'go' is screamed.

But that's more than fine. It's Lita's turn to shake and shudder as his pain turns her on far more than the neat, trim lines of his body, or sweetness of his lips. She feels it vibrate through her already horny breasts; clench deep into her core-- feeding that Hunger.

Wordless pants escape her throat as she swats his ass again, rutting her hips back and forth like she had both his fists in her and was showing him what she'd do if he had a  _ real _ dick. Really, with how weak, how terrified the poor little man is?

It's better than any human cock she can think of.

"Oooh, mmmm, yeah," Lita moans, ignoring his continued wails for her to let him go. Her lips curl back and her toes curl down-- and she raises her hand for another firm set of swats.

After all, the little whore is asking for it.

Oh yes, he is, in his demandypants rudeness. Not a word of hello yet, or a proper thank you for prettying his tush! Add that on top of how much Mikey quivers and how hard he gets while she beats his pathetic little ass like the slut he is?

His screaming isn't what she's here for, but it gets her pussy wet and her clit throbbing. His pain  _ is _ , but she wants more out of him-- so she moderates the slaps to his increasingly gyrating ass. Oh yes, his ruddy dick is rock-hard and thrusting in her embrace.

But it's not his pathetic little prick's pleasure he's trying for; like all men, all pain-sluts under Lita's hand, he's started to raise his ass to meet it on the way down. It's just too much.  _ Oh well, a little appetizer means he's more likely to survive until I'm done. _

She clamps a steely hand over his mouth, letting his screams vibrate on. "Kinda slow, are we, Mikey?" They vibrate and his green eyes all but pop out of his skull, tears streaming so pretty to either side. The vibrations roll through her and she begins to thrust  _ her _ hips back and forward, too.

Bigger hips, bigger muscles, bigger everything. It's time Mikey learned a man's place in her world. "Uhhhhhnnnnf!" Leaning in really close, across him, across her fat, squishy tit, she groans her orgasm loudly, letting him feel and hear how much pleasure his pain gives her.

"Yeah," Lita laughs. "Realmente estúpido, pendejo." His wriggling, caught atop her left tit alone, makes her groan again. "Oooh," she coos, squeezing her bubble butt tight and shaking the shapely globes.

" _ Tasty _ , though. You like gettin' all wriggly for mami?" Inhaling deeply and licking her lips, she tastes his fear and sends her enormous melons wobbling. "Oki. If you're gonna volunteer and all…"

His next sobs don't even have words, just swirl after swirl of pain.  _ Despreciable. Siempre despreciable _ . "Uhnm… mmmm," she gasps, letting his suffering swirl through her body like a well-trained facecushioner's tonguework.

He just keeps thrashing and crying more as she soaks the crotch of her jeans.

Her pretty smile screws into a contemptuous sneer. "I'm not going to say 'no' to such a sweet offer, amado." She relaxes her grip on his jaw-- not that it's a relief for him.

He won't ever have relief again; his fear  _ and _ his lust painted in themes of Lita. She will own his dreams, even if he manages to walk away. He'll never forget-- especially with how rapidly she makes him switch from fear to fear and pain to pain.

He does manage to avoid losing teeth when Lita plunges two fingers into his mouth. She giggles, smacking him around on her mountainous melon before shoving her other hand down on his ass to bracket him into place.

Once she has the squirmy little bitch locked in, she goes to work with the two fingers. Each of them bigger  _ and _ thicker than his (now rock-hard) cock. She takes extra care to make sure he knows it, too; thrusting them along his tongue, back and forth in a steady, pistoning motion.

Mikey chokes and swallows heavily, gagging on the massive digits. Still, to her delight, he  _ voluntarily _ parts his sweetly curved lips wider, gurgling and trying to suppress his gag reflex. "Aww," she coos. "Not  _ quite  _ so slow you'll lose teeth rather than suck like a good little bitch?"

_ Perhaps better material than I thought. _

And a good bitch he is. Ragged sobs and panicked thrashing are all he replies, but she understands him so well. She sees the fucktoy in him, the slave that she can make of him, starting to take shape.

Lita loves it when they walk under the yoke like this. Even the way he's bobbing his head as he cries tells her he wants to live. And if he wants to live, well.

If Mikey wants to live, he'll live as the toy she makes him.

_ Even a deathwish wouldn't have saved him. But he wants to live, poor don nadie. And that means he's got so many levers to pull on. So many buttons to push. _

_ So many nerves to tune to  _ pain _. _

_ Speaking of…  _ Lita's chirping turns to a growl, her thumb jamming against his jugular. "Maybe you're just  _ rude _ , then? Promise you, Mikey, rude ain't the way to walk away here. ¿Me entiendes?"

He disappoints her. Repetition bores her. "Plea-" he starts, before the subtle pressure of her thumb obliviates it.

Her eyes meet his. She mouths H-O-L-A again. Not that mouthing it helps-- her full lips, just a bit past the Jolie level but still on the right side of gorgeous, tend to be a distraction.

That's partly Lita's fault, and partly because men-- and admittedly, women-- are horny little skanks for her. She  _ could _ force him to understand, just like she's making him understand his place. But it's so much fun watching them imagine that her honeyed lips were making those shapes over their tiny dicks or pathetic pussies.

And then the men remember they'd be cigarettes at best, and she doesn't smoke. The women recall how much greater a woman  _ she _ is, her lush curves superior in every way. So which way is Mikey going to break?

His nineteen-centimeter clit-tickler is certainly beading precum like he thought Lita was going to take a little drink as a sample.  _ Most of them take at least one more round of beatings. Are we actually smart, Mikey, or… _

Smart, Mikey apparently is. Smart… and hers. He surrenders his brain to her; she's already taken the body.

He gurgles a bit, sobbing with tears running down his cheeks; two dainty brush-strokes of delicious pain. Her mama didn't raise her to waste a meal, so she licks those up too. A quick smack of her gorgeous lips seems to be enough to set him free.

Free to be her slut. "H-h-h-hello," he whispers. "I w-w-ant to li-live. Please!"

She chuckles. "Quicker learner'n my final chico last night. Just takes a little teaching, huh?"

Lita's heavy chest transmits her amusement as her huge tits bounce him around. Each one displaces more space than he'd take up, tied in a sack to be thrown in the ocean. Her laughter beats him… but not as badly as she did the last one.

Mikey earned it, his new design. Every little reward-- like how she permits him to stay erect, rubbing that pathetic cock against her perfect breasts-- chains him. He's earned those chains.

But-- he's earned other things, too. Her beautifully dark brown sex, already clenching and gushing from the sadism Drive in full bloom, grows damper and fatter by the thought.

And Lita thinks very fast now, indeed.

Her right fist grabs his throat. He winces back, squirming as he dangles, but she doesn't squeeze. She just holds.

And licks her chops again. Her eyelids narrow and her breath comes in hungry pants, emphasizing every word she speaks. "See, that's  _ courtesy _ , little man." She waits until he relaxes-- as much as he can, held a meter off the ground.

" _ Mostly," _ she hisses. Mostly is not usually known for its threatening qualities. More like its suggestive qualities, in a somewhat negative sense.

Mikey's pretty green eyes seduce her again, bugging out so fine in terror. It's there, perhaps, that the way Moto-Lita snarls it sculpts a mild amount of ominousness into a deadly warning. The lowness of her voice, while still certainly feminine, emphasizes the breadth of her stocky chest.

A leatherback sea turtle might have been able to rest comfortably on her back without any overhang. In the front, of course, there are a pair of rather large occupants already  _ hanging _ in place. With Mikey's recent travel over one fresh in mind, she hauls his spindly body-- barely muscular even for a man-- just over the plump swell of her right breast and slowly licks the sweat and tears from his face.

The taste of him stimulates her, inspires her. Nipples and clit stiffen, and she chews on her lower lip for a moment before moaning out further instructions. "Got a thought exercise for you, Mikey."

He's learned to listen closely-- not that he has much choice, held mere centimeters from her face. In some ways, it's a mercy; gravity helped her have her way with his suffering before. But the heaviness of her breast-- and the power of the pecs behind it-- means he barely dimples the round, smooth surface with his bodyweight.

It helps, really! After all, her grip is tight but not crushing. With gravity firmly blocked by a firm breast, he isn't  _ quite  _ choking.

He might wish he were being throttled. In fact, by the scent of him, he does wish he were already out. She doesn't tend to do that-- not at  _ first, _ anyway.

Time to paint a picture for him; time to illustrate some truths.

She just won't stop it from happening. "So. You a little thing," she labels him, and slaps his upper arm with her hand. It's really more of a gentle tap, but he screams, her swat leaving a handprint right through his shirt sleeve.

Lita makes an extravagant gesture-- with Mikey. He's already hard from just being bounced off her boobs; she can smell the precum leaking into his pants. The pain, and her gorgeously massive  _ everything, _ combine with the sweet rumble of her voice to make that messy little prick ache, even as he's whistled through the air like a paper streamer.

She swings him around, making him get up close and personal with her curvy belly, her curvier hips, her curvi _ est _ breasts-- and then leaves him staring right at her other arm.  _ Oh, I do love this part. _

Her palm spreads wide-- then clenches into an even more vicious fist than the one about his throat.

"Yo soy grande," Lita purrs. "El más grande. ¿Verdad?"

She slowly flexes the stocky, thick arm that isn't holding him. her head tilting in its direction-- though her gaze remains locked on him. It's a predator's stare; Mikey is her meal. How  _ much _ of a meal, though?

The more he resists, the better it would have been at first. Now that he's surrendered? The opposite is true.

"Uhnf, yeah," Lita purrs, titanic titties shaking lightly from more than just her rumbling voice. Feeling the  _ truth _ pass through his acrobatic little bod resonates back through her melons, a teasing series of crackling, warm blossoms of pleasure.

The more he surrenders, the worse pain he accepts, the more terrible the humiliation... The more pleasure it gives her. The more deeply it entrances him. The more her sadism Hunger is satisfied-- and hence the more her head is clear of it when she opts to mold someone she intends to  _ keep. _

He pretty clearly doesn't speak spanish, not even the broken stuff she uses. It doesn't matter. She's noticed that even without visual aids, she can make people understand what she's saying.

Using words he doesn't understand just makes it hurt more, and she's  _ enjoying _ hurting Mikey.

His eyes go wide, the sparkle going out of their green. They try and fail to track everything as her insanely overdeveloped bicep rises out of its plush cover. The peak that pushes out isn't some comical inflated cartoon. Not balloons smuggled under that little black tee.

Craggy is the peak of Mt. Lefty. The sculpted mass should perfect fractal definition. A web of banded strength, once hidden by her plushness, now wreathing the layered, grooved upper arm.

Lita is a curvy bitch, she'll admit that. The majority of Hunters are like the wet dreams of bodybuilder fetishists' fevered jerk material, zero body fat off the knockers or around the hips and butt. Brawny and built, showing it off at all times with crisp definition and development.

Lita, though, and a few of her lucky sister Hunters, get to stand out. Not just from bigger, curvier titties, and bigger, jigglier asses, though her little variants have those, too. Hers are the best-- well, her endlessly succulent and rounded boobs are  _ the _ best in the world, but she'd love to paddle Candy Mandy's S-tier, top of the Pyramid of Asses tushie just for being on a bodybuilder-base frame.

If, you know, Candy Mandy couldn't just break Lita's hand with a flex of the mega-built glutes beneath.

But Lita and her subkind can be warm and inviting, snuggly for their loved ones, smothering for  _ lucky  _ pets…

And then put on the flex, like she is now, and show off the same hyper-expansion and hyper-development and hypnotic definition as their sisters. Or in Lita's case, far  _ better _ . The pump and the bulge of her bicep, so huge and thick, is covered in the creased lines and perfect bulges of a magnified bicep-- of a magnified platonic  _ ideal _ of a bicep.

And her bitch knows it. Whether he gets to escape being her bitch in body (they never escape in mind) or whether he'll be crawling back when he can crawl unassisted again, anyway.

_ Mmm. _ She can tell from Mikey's cutely stunned eyes he's caught by the sight even before he drools out a few words. "So big," he whispers. "So beautiful. So big…" A long moan escapes his trapped throat.

She has him-- and he's even giving himself up.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moto-Lita is oft baffled by the fact that some Hunters think her weak until her fist is on or in them. She's big, and broad, and has thigh-muscles as big as some Hunter bodies. But because she's less striated (until she flexes), has fewer (but larger and stronger) tertiaries, and she looks like someone who actually would be strong for a normal, biologically humanoid body...
> 
> They think she's fat and weak. Right up until it's time to rule them forever.
> 
> But humans? Well, it depends. There are some few dumb enough to believe that, especially given the narrow slice of land she claims, or because she's chubby.
> 
> Those in her grip, especially smothered in thigh and pussy, ass, or breasts, they know better. Very quickly, like Mikey, who soon learns that failing to respond to her whims, spoken and unspoken, only brings delicious, addicting punishment, and promising anything unwisely can mean sexualized death. He "escapes" that in the short term, because it's not what she wants.
> 
> Pretending to pepper her speech with bad English and Spanish in between the erudition, she slowly destroys his mind and his will.
> 
> Not to make a slave.
> 
> Just to make it more fun.

Poor little lost Mikey, lithe little six-foot nothing man, muscle-tranced and doomed. He stole into the territory owned by Moto-Lita, the insanely powerful, beautiful, and sadistic giantess who rules the Bay Area of California from her home city of Fremont-- snuck into Fremont itself! And she caught him.

She's tossed him around like a ball, beaten and broken him on her laughter-- or rather, by laughing at him as he's held over breasts heavier than he is, unable to escape their impact. All along she's fucked his mind, good and slow, pretending to be cheerfully happy to see him. Pretending that if he'd just been more courteous, he might not have been such meat.

But it's the meat that makes him Mikey.  _ I'm so mean! And I LOVE IT! _

She does, too. It can't help soothe the latent rage that drives her from moment to moment, exposing herself to outside conflict-- it can't stop the constant sensation that her cells are being stretched like Mikey would be with her nipple down his throat…

But being mean, being the bitch queen she is at heart… 

The rush at least distracts, for now, and she'll do anything for that.

So will Mikey. Anything she wants at all.

Lita has just pumped up her enormous bicep. As a stockier variety of Hunter, not only does she have a super-booty that men and women alike would die to pleasure, and those gigantic, perfectly perky yet jiggly mega-melons, but she looks frankly, a little pudgy. But pudgy like a weightlifter, with a thick, solid core.

Once she flexes out, all hints of pudginess are demolished. Having quite thoroughly beaten Mikey, having exposed him to the mind-blowing symmetry; powerful, huge, yet fractally elegant musculature; all added to the perfect flexion definition that the Pulse gave her, he's drooling over said tightly defined, gigantic peak of her upper arm.

Leaving him worshipping its pure, unrestrained  _ bigness _ .

It's a vital surrender, of sorts. Of course, he doesn't have much of a choice save to surrender to her gorgeous muscles. Her body is beautiful for itself, elegantly molded out of power and curves together.

But it's a preternatural beauty, sculpting him to  _ her _ lusts. Just like her hands can lift and push whole things-- buildings, say, or highways ripped up and used to shockwave-- in violation of physics, her beauty violates the mind of the beholder.

Mikey may not have appreciated big women before. He might have preferred the willowy type. Or maybe just the tits and ass. That's the usual.

So even if he  _ wasn't  _ a muscle-fetishist before, he is now. Whatever his tastes had been, still exist; but looking upon her without the shields of body language she uses with her specials, she rapes his standards of beauty completely. Forcing herself to the top.

_ It's so much fun, watching and feeling them fall into the proper order of things. They're always so grateful… in their way. Eventually. _

"I'll take that as a yes, mm," Lita laughs.  _ It wouldn't matter-- but I can feel his agreement. Taste his terrified acquiescence. _

"So here's the thought exercise," she tells him, voice sweet as honey, grip as harsh as death. "If I'm so big, and you so small…" She flops him around with a quick jerk of his hand, landing him groin-first against her fat, broad nipple.

_ Remind him how  _ small _ he is. Smaller than small. Then... _

Pain. Given that Lita's nipple is harder than his very bones, and the breast behind weighs more than he does, the connection is… educational. Immensely so. 

His screaming tells her that the agony has filled in  _ just _ fine. "Why the  _ fuck _ would I care what  _ you _ want?" she growls over his tormented howls.

The growl trails off into a purring snarl as his squirming, slender legs squeeze their feeble way over her nip. Her eyes go wide but her pupils narrow in predator stare, his wailing agony pumping a paired fire of delight into her throbbing nipple as it batters his stiff, reddish-pink member about.

She wonders if Mikey will be smart enough to realize the one thing he can bargain with. His screaming makes her lick her lips and wriggle him around, bouncing his fleshy cock off the can-sized hardness of her nipple, and the meaty  _ thunk _ of being bounced off her areola. It isn't quite so stiff as her nip-- for now.

_ Nah, he ain't  _ that _ bright. More fun for me getting him there! _ The foundation of confusion, beauty, and various painful sensations are already yielding results.

After all, the aroused crinkle of the broad disk of darker flesh and the potent mass of her mammary behind it makes the experience rather like having his cock slammed into a rolled up cushion. Sure, there's a little give, but it's quite a bit like having his dick spanked.

Just like his ass, Mikey has quite the spankable little  _ toy _ .

"Ooh," she moans as his yowls become higher and higher pitched. "A screamer. I  _ like _ screamers, Mikey. And you seem pretty enamored of my girls, eh?"

She stops flexing her huge arm, and covers his entire groin with her left hand. Her thumb ruthlessly presses into his pants, emphasizing how hard he was before she even touched the little thing. And forces him to soak them more with his precum.

"I don't-- you don't… I…"

"Tsk. Still thinkin' I give a shit about  _ you _ ?" Lita laughs. "Fuck, you so small that you don't even lube up as much as I do."

Her deep brown eyes flare; an offer. Put his mind into tracks-- into traces she's set. "Want to bet against your legs that my pussy can gush more than your whole wad?" she suggests.

Her fingers torture his quads, prodding hard against the "strong" muscle. "If you can manage to jerk off as much as my cunny gets ready, I'll let you go-- I'll even give you some good stuff. Make it worth your while."

She's not surprised he's not stupid enough to take it. He just whimpers, "Not my legs, not my legs, oh please, G--"

_ Time to learn that the only way to please is to fail, Mikey… and that there are limits to the failures I'll permit. _

Her thunderous frown shuts Mikey up pretty quickly. "I let you take  _ your _ god's name in vain a few times already, Mikey. But that ain't courteous to call upon someone else when  _ I _ have you-- nor is it courteous to my former faith." He stares at her, jaw dropping lower.

_ Yeah, bitch, I actually care about the Names and the words more than I do your tiny, tiny, wormy, whiny life. _

She laughs at him, bouncing her breast against his cock like she was fucking it. Shaking him up and down, the heavy mass swinging with her hearty, mocking chortle. All the while, she lays down the law. "You can be as scatalogical as you want, but you want to beg for an intervention, you beg from  _ me. _ "

The hubris used to bother her. Exposure-- and pleasure-- helped her deal with that. Plus, it comes to her so easily. The shocked horror on his face looks just like all of her victims in the middle of being  _ fixed _ . The revulsion and arousal, the terror and desire.

Lita owns his life now, and she can do whatever she wants to him.

Nothing is going to stop her. Powerful aliens from more hostile worlds? Easy meat. Universe-patrolling Lantern Corps? Pitiful little holograms, shattered with a breath. Horrible mercenaries from even more horrible intergalactic empires? Fit only to suck on her toe-- maybe her clit if they do a good job.

There's no one for Mikey. Not heroes, who'd be useless. Not the police, whom she owns in the first place-- and even with her gifts of hypertechnology couldn't so much as trim her toenails.

And he has no one to even beg her for his life. No one who cares. No one who will even miss him.

The wandering slut, in desolation. Warm, soft, enticing desolation. But that's just to start.

Mikey seems to realize this quickly. That's at least a third of the point of tormenting him like this. The most important reason may be "because I like it," but it does so aid in making the realities of the situation clear.

His body goes slack, and his pupils vague, unfocused. His hands stop randomly grasping at the air-- as though he knows there's no way out of the pit of punishment he's found himself in. Walked right into of his own free will, actually.

The immediacy of pain-- and how much she's getting off on it, her musk everywhere-- is always a good teacher. The last laugh nearly fractured either or both of his femurs, just from her tit slamming into his weak little human body. No matter how rough he could have been with her subjects, in her hands, he's just a  _ thing _ to be broken, a soap-bubble illusion ready to be popped.

He can't even beg for  _ himself _ . Delicious. All he does is heave and sob-- no tears, just dry twitching and ragged moans.

  
It's close. But Moto-Lita accepts  _ close _ to pleasing from no one. Not men, not women, and definitely not her fellow Hunters. Mikey isn't stupid enough to take her bet, but not smart enough to realize that he could bargain with her.

Offer himself willingly.

Sometimes they do, and it's better than the best dark chocolate. Complete with the bitterness of their tears. She enjoys demonstrating her power, though, so it all balances out.

For example, he seems to think he can be lazy with her requirements. Or that his delicious sobbing counts as a reason she'd give a shit about him, his needs, or anything of that nature.  _ Time to  _ correct _ my poor little bitch again. _

" _ Now, _ chulo," she snarls. "Answer the first question. I don' feel like repeatin' myself."

One eye half-closed, the other lid twitching, Mikey struggles to remember her requirements. It only takes her inhaling slightly to bring him out of his hypnagogic reverie. "No!" he wails, snapping himself down just a little further.

All she has to do to put the fear of Lita into him is to inhale, to grin, to let her eyes widen and her lips curl back.

To suggest she's about to shout or start laughing, either of which would send another  _ thump _ of her sweater mammoths right into his midsection.

She raises a solitary eyebrow, tilting her head towards him as she holds his neck tight. "No…? No  _ what _ , little  _ meat _ ?" This part is important. Making them say it seems to brand it into their forebrains all the harder.

As well, the anger isn't entirely feigned. Just because he's human is no excuse for imperfection before her. Her instincts tell her that everyone she meets, especially humans, should know how to please her, just by seeing her.

But really, Mikey just amuses.

His helplessness pleasures her, throbbing in her clit to make her cunny  _ clench _ in the darkness of her jeans. His pain feeds her, warmth spreading out from her core. And his confused, battered consciousness, unable to grasp anything after no more than a minute or two worth of beatings-- that does both.

Hornier and hornier, Lita's panting, lip-puffing inhalations and exhalations cycle faster, her eyes opening wide. She salivates slightly, feeling the lust in her to taste his tears and fear once more. But she waits. Anticipation is its own accentuation.

"No nothing," he whimpers, crying again. The idiotic comment does him no favors, and she doesn't bother caring about how much his neck is strained by hauling him close to her face to slurp up his tears once more.

He stutters and sobs, but manages, "There's no reason for you to care. Oh-- Hunter! Mistress! Please, I'll earn it, anyway you want?"

Lita snorts skeptically, and he's jostled. Any  _ way, is it? _ The bumping and grinding of boob to body isn't quite as abusive as before, but it makes him moan, "I'll… do… anything…"

_ Any  _ thing _? Completamente, totalmente estúpido. I'll show you anything.. _

Stunned and fragmenting mentally, Mikey's left moving very slowly indeed. She prefers faster wiggles, but is willing to accept the creeping, hapless rub of his weak little body against her enormous, perfect melon. He's deep in the whorl now, twitches almost gone from him.

It's so cute!

"Such a pretty little bitch you are, Mikey," she purrs. He's already acting as though she's tied great weights to his wrists and ankles, the slightest attempt to fan out and hold onto her as she plays with him impossibly difficult.

She pretends to consider the question.  _ Like you ain't already doomed, slut. _

"Mm, a-a-anythi-i-i-ng?" she groans, squeezing the fat of her thighs together, rubbing the sensitive inner surfaces tight over the thin denim between them.

Lita inhales as she readies for the pounce. He's lost, spinning in the dark. Fear and adrenaline and lust and pain and those subtle hormonal changes that tell him even better than his eyes, his vague, empty eyes-- he's lost.

It sends a wriggle through her body, a lovely starburst of ecstasy.  _ I don't know how dominating something as weak as Mikey satisfies me so well… But it does! _

That's not entirely true; she knows where parts of it come from. Her bare toes wriggle in the grass, the top layer just loose enough for them to dig furrows as she makes the range of his offered anything a little clearer. Her lower lip meets her upper teeth, just light chewing as the flavor of the sadism-Drive permeates her pleasure.

"I can't-- I can't possibly satisfy you, I can't be… but… if that's what you want…"

Mikey's barrelling right into the trap. One last set of spikes to nail the coffin over his still-breathing self-respect and survival instincts both. "Ooh, Mikey, anything, huh?" she asks.

A sudden hyperflexion makes her jeans groan as huge muscles expand within. Her stocky frame conceals gigantic power, and she wants to let it  _ loose. _ Even though he can't see it the way she can, her lovely breasts no more a barrier than steel or lead would be, she's sure he can  _ hear  _ the straining and the tearing, and all they imply.

Her whims are already transmitting themselves into his cowardly little mind, straight from his balls. He doesn't dare to interrupt, even to answer her. Fear becomes more and more primary, whipping him from within.

Mikey's finally starting to approach his true use. He  _ vibrates _ with his shudders, finally being useful in pleasing her breast. She kisses the top of his head-- a reward!

"You're wrong, y'know," Lita purrs. "You could satisfy me-- in a few ways." Unable to respond, he just whines unintelligibly.

Grinning evilly, she licks her teeth again and raises both eyebrows. "You're right about one thing though, chiquito. You can't give me the  _ fuck _ I need. But… I guess if you really want to serve…"

"Anything!"

Just to improve him-- if he survives-- she gives him a blessing, free of charge. She gives him another lesson. Two for the price of one, in fact.

First-- her lower, nastier laugh gives him fewer slams into her squishy-strong super-boobs, but they're deeper, rocking him up and down-- so that's the lesson in pain.

The lesson in limits is next. It's the truth that all men, all  _ humans _ must learn. They don't have much  _ anything _ anymore.

"Oh, you gonna be a good boy and die for mami, then?" she asks, not even bothering to emphasize the word. Just throwing it in casually.  _ After all, he should have expected it. _

It shatters most of what's left of his resistance. Just most-- but that, too, is no kindness. She has none for any but her specials, and mostly, just for her family.

_ After all, if I shatter  _ all _ of his willpower, he won't even fight and thrash to pleasure me-- er, to survive. _ Sometimes, the art of making a good fucktoy-- even a very temporary one-- is the art of  _ self _ -restraint. It's always the art of restraining them, of course.

Poor things never do know what's good for them.

She forces herself not to giggle, and fakes a frown when he screams. "That ain't bein' good, Mikey," she growls over his high-pitched wails. They abruptly cease, and she grins, holding her left hand palm up to the side and giving her fierce chest a flirty shake.

He's still trembling, still earning more of her slit's soaking by 'slamming' back and forth as hard as his feeble body can twitch with his mind lost in the daze. It's funny, even-- he's trembling fast, but the jerks of his limbs come out in sudden spasms, as though the air had become jelly that he had to swim through.

She leans her elbow on her heaving left tit, steadying it a bit while her fingers make suggestive curls and crosses in the air. "See, though, that's  _ how  _ you'd satisfy, little man," she tells him, grinning broader and broader.

Hand moving slowly, she rubs his twitching, jerking frame all over her right tit. He's sobbing and weeping harder now, and she takes a moment to rub his face into the softness of her belly-- and the hardness of the abs beneath the slight pudge. Since her flexing has tightened the shirt up some more, her midriff is bare. She loves feeling his tears on her skin.

At the end, she releases his throat, but exacts another howl-- he's only permitted to drop almost to the ground. She catches him by the hair, and it almost tears his scalp from his head. The scream is so delicious, she permits several seconds worth before slapping him across the face.

She could have broken Mikey's jawbones, but then he wouldn't be able to agree. To promise. So she distributes the force, leaving the right side of his face covered in a red handprint and agonized as though she'd held him to a hot iron.

  
The sobs quiet anyway. With his teeth chattering, she pulls him back lightly away from her body. "See how horny your 'anything' made mi concha?" She demonstrates, drawing her pointer finger along the rippling muscles of her huge thighs, right up towards her soaked sex.

"I do appreciate you bein' such a willing little snuff-slut."  _ Or at least, close enough that I can pretend I'm interested in that today. Nothing like the threat of death to keep a worm turning! _

She drawls out, "It's really good of you, Mikey. 'Cos I don't get volunteers for my scissors very often. Even my best muscle sluts want to enjoy being beaten over a long lifetime-- ooh,  _ Mikey _ , I'm going to so love crushing you out between my thighs!"

She squeezes them again, flexing slowly and rubbing thigh upon thigh, muscle upon muscle.

_ Or I would appreciate it, if I wasn't trying to convince you otherwise. _ As fun as a good death-scissors is, Lita gets a better sadism high on letting them walk-- or rather, crawl-- away. Their lives feed her, especially when they dream.

"Oh no no no Hunter no please I didn't mean I didnmeandidnrmmnf" She doesn't have to clamp her hand over Mikey's jaw again. He slurs off into nothingness, the trancing effect of her total domination and exquisite pain leaving him helpless to even beg.

_ There, right there, that's the  _ fucking _ stuff _ !

He's already even acknowledging Lita as the only power that matters in his life. She's told any number of her vassal Hunters how delicious it is. Not to just destroy the body, that's easy, but to crush their very minds and egos. In a way, compacting their souls into the tiny, wriggling worms they deserve to be.

Her clitty loves it, too. Like she was grinding his pathetic, squirmy weasel-soul right over it. Masturbating on the ruins of his dignity. Oh, yes, her clitoris sure loves it, and her whole body feels the ecstatic response.

Her voice catches, low and gravelly. " _ FUCK _ yes, you little worm!" Mikey's treated to a beautiful horror show, her curvy thighs flexing through the tautness of her jeans.

Artistic little tears begin to form as the lush padding that keeps her hips so smoothly curved is pushed aside, displaced to accentuate the sculpted gorgeousness of her quads bulging. Each new pulse of pleasure, every new bit of his dignity crushed on her clit brings out more  _ flex! _ Her warm, tan-brown skin begins to show as the jeans start to die for her.

The electrical-- the lightning bolts-- of pleasure his hapless submission gives makes her cum so hard she nearly tears her jeans off entirely. She has to control it, just like she has to control how hard she hits him. She'd need to go get more if she shredded her pants to tatters, and she'd need to find another victim if she slapped him only lightly enough to crack his skull.

Let alone the feather-lightness that it would take to crush it entirely. Her snarl devours his screams, terror and pain and--  _ Yep, cumming himself again. So much tastier than wetting himself with fear. _

So she's gentle with him, really, forcing her own orgasm back and refusing to tighten up her grip on his hair. It would be so easy to just grind her knuckles into his head…  _ But no. I have other ideas in mind. _ There are more than a few of those artistic tears in her jeans now, where bulging displays of definition ripped through the fabric and the nanofilm protection.

_ Eh, is fine. ¿Se ven bonitas, no? Works with my favorite greasegorilla look nice. _

"See, Mikey?" she purrs. "You could be responsible for all of that and more with your anything." Slowly, Lita widens her stance. Her bare heels dig through the bright green grass as she lowers herself and him. "Just enough space for you an' your final service. Whatcha want for it?"

He chokes and shudders. He's trapped by how  _ good _ that flexing looked. They always are.

Endless shredded perfection rising out of her stocky frame, into curvy harmony with the whole. The power of it, the bulging strength unequaled by anything a man like him could dream of. Fractal symmetry in the tight-packed grooves, just peaking like a peep show past the blue of her jeans…

Lita doesn't really have to even torture people to make them love her muscles.

It's just more fun. Much like his begging squeal. "I want to live!" It only gets a solitary raise of her eyebrow.

Feasting on Mikey's choked down terror, she moans, "Ooh, that's a problem, chiquito. How you gonna live and sacrifice yourself to me?"

Playing with him, like a cat with a mouse... It feeds her so good. Makes a tingle spread out from her fat nips, spiralling through her areolae and deeper and deeper to her breasts entire.

"I can't I can't I can't please please please let me do something else, let me serve you, let me be your slave, please!"

"Aw, honey, no, no, no. You want to live, you go to the processing centers, like the signs say. You clearly don' want to live enough."

Gargled, wordless cries meet her, and she errantly flips him up in the air-- by the hair. Now he screams good and loud, especially when he slams back down into her burly arms. She smirks at his weak whimpers of pain, at the bruises forming where he impacted onto her arms.

Cuddling him close against her right tit, like she was going to nurse him, she snorts. "Weak, too, what use I got for weak?"

She winks at Mikey and licks her lips, bouncing him against the broadness of her arm. "I'm not even flexin' right now. You gettin' the soft side of Lita." Like the meatiness of her arms is any less when she's not showing off her weightlifter's wet-nightmare panoply of pumped-out muscles.

But it makes for a fun little tease.

"I wish I had, I would, I'd follow, I'd--" he stutters off. His head lolls now that Lita is no longer holding it up, the red marks on his throat from her grip displayed for her pleasure as his neck bends.

So close to breaking entirely. One eye is closed entirely, the other rapidly twitching around. His limbs dangle, the tightness he'd developed even before the Pulse useless entirely.

Useless to escape, useless in her territory, useless to her pussy. But…

"Hmm," she says, rocking Mikey back and forth gently. "Little pendejito wants to live  _ and _ please mami?"   
  


"Mistress-Hunter-yes," he babbles.

"I tell you what. I give you one,  _ maybe  _ two more do-overs. I'll let you take back your  _ anything _ if you can think of a place to serve me, little bitch."

Hope blossoms in his eyes.  _ Perfect touch. _ Lita sometimes laughs for minutes when she's reminded that the blue light of Hope is considered a  _ positive _ part of the emotional spectrum.

Hope makes slaves. Because when she offers them hope… they choose to be her slave.  _ If I could offer him a way to die for me right now and then come back to life, he'd take it. Because of hope. _

She shines that light of hope onto Mikey. "An' if you survive serving… I'll let you leave my territory. Deal?"

Who does not disappoint. "A-a-as y-y-you command!" he squeals.

"Ooh, good boy. So you got somethin' for me?" Lita asks as she starts pulling off his clothes. Testing how deep the programming is, but also grinding him into place. He's no stronger than a baby to her-- far less, really.

It makes him whine in half-suppressed terror, but she sneers, "You ain't gonna be pleasin' me with these on. Whether I pop you between my quads, or you figure something else out, I want to play with your fucking body, so play I will-- get me?"

She doesn't really need him unclothed. Not with what she has in mind. And she can see his pathetic little body completely bare-- but so are his organs, his skeleton, his cells, his molecules--  _ everything _ is within her sight.

But it humiliates and terrifies him. She tugs just hard enough that if he doesn't squirm fast despite his trance, his clothes will rip. The little weasel manages it, despite how much it hurts when she hauls down his pants without opening the snap.

He might not have  _ enough  _ of a nice butt to please her, but he's got enough to keep his pants up normally-- and it hurts him again when the pressure digs into his skin and against his bones, only finding mercy when the snap is forced open.

_ Such fun. Such shame. And so deadly, if I slip but a little. Mikey knows it, too. _

If Lita rips the pants off him, if they're gone, he has no other clothes. It's winter, in Northern California. Beach or not, it's cold, and wet-- he could die without them.

The scent of his fear almost hits her (and her clit) faster than the sadism-Hunger satisfaction. His whole cute little body, bruises and all, tightens up all at once. He shivers as though the rain was pouring down right now, bouncing and writhing up against the bottom of her right melon.

" _ Fuck, _ " she groans again. If nothing else, Mikey's an excellent nipple-vibrator.

It gives her a reason to let him just sob on, not answering her. Oh, she takes care enough not to rip them-- she's said she'd let him go and it'd be hard for him to make it even back to the border without clothes, given what she plans to do with him.

And, of course, there's that lifelong feeding to consider, too, against a few days, possibly only a few hours of utter and final suffering. There's a lot of orgasms to be found in ongoing cruelty, even if he doesn't worm his way back to her territory, begging to be hurt again. Wherever he goes, his dreams will be full of her climaxes, his nightmares, full of her smiles.

"So-o-o~o?" she asks, putting on a feral smirk once more, her canines flashing prominently.

"I-- I'll… you seemed… you liked hurting me, is there any way I can serve for that, without dying?"

"Aww, who's a good little bitch, then?" Lita laughs. "Yeah, fuckboi, there is. You sure you want it?"

"N-no, I can't be," he whispers. Lying, of course-- he's hard as a rock.

It's a lie she'll let Mikey have-- for now. "But if it's a chance to live-- I'll do an-- I'll do what you tell me."

"Mmm,  _ very _ good little bitch. And you're  _ lucky _ , Mikey, you really are."

Mikey can't even voice the question. Too much fear. Too much pain.

Too close to Lita's gorgeously vast tits, the lurid plushness that hurt him so and yet make him drool with need. He really might be a smart one, after all. He thinks he knows what luck means.

As she pops the snap on  _ her  _ jeans and begins to unzip, she smirks. "All you gotta do is one thing, Mikey." She lets out a little sigh as she unzips, exposing her dark pubes and her horny sex-- just a bit.

His jaw drops, just at that sight. Men, women-- even her vassal Hunters. They all find love at first sight with her pussy.

"One… easy… thing."

The zipper opens all the way.


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the meal; of course, for a Hunter, the meal is a person who might be able to walk away.
> 
> Maybe. Moto-Lita has caught Mikey, a sneaking little would-be looter in her town. Her territory. Trying to take from her people.
> 
> Her property.
> 
> After a slow, sensuous removal of her jeans, because she wants to enjoy this to the fullest, she lets him know how he gets to stay alive. All he has to do is stay awake in marshmallow heaven.
> 
> Well, maybe not heaven, per se. Because the breasts that he's going to have to compact his body into, folded up by the more than ten-feet-tall mini-giantess, are both incredibly dense and able to become quite hard indeed with just a little supernal flexing. And she's going to be enjoying herself through orgasms that are his timer for success...
> 
> Or if he fails, she'll just hunt down his little brother. Because this is the changed Earth, and she is a Hunter... And the violation of a Hunter's territory isn't the sort of thing she lets slide.
> 
> But the reason is still the same, anyway; she's doing it because he's there, and she wants to.
> 
> And no one can stop her.

Lita's getting ready for fun. For the  _ real _ fun, not just a puny feeding-gasm or two. It takes more preparation than one might think, even after unzipping her pants.

For one, her hips are so vast that the pants stay on, despite being completely open. The waistband just hangs off the padded, obscenely lewd excesses of her super-curvy hips. He's dumbstruck anyway at the sight, one flap half-covering her soaked slit, the other flopping towards the left side, baring that gorgeous mound to the world.

Perhaps it would be better to say that the horny Hunter  _ releases _ her pussy from its concealment. Mikey can't even ask what his task is; he's just too busy drooling at the dark chocolate giving way to the hungry pink within.

His breath is ragged, yet somehow synchronized with hers, as though every time she pants, she's stealing a bit of his breath forever.   
  
Lita's thumbs push into her waistband, pressing into the lush, perky curve. She loves the feel of it, like lovers struggling to stay with her after she's long used them up. She loves the effect it has on slaves.

Her hips are so gloriously fecund that just walking by gets even her specials' wistful attention. Her thighs are so lush, so thick and curvy in and of themselves that they seem to constantly be ready to wrap around a fucktoy. Or a fucktoy's head.

_ Which is probably what he thinks I'm gonna do to him anyway. Poor little bitchboy, ready for the wrong kinda lay. _ Her grin grows wider, and wider, as she sways, her hips waggling slowly from side to side as she inches her torn jeans down.

"Just one thing," she repeats, closing her eyes and licking her lips. Her quads tighten, pushing at those tears again.

He stays frozen. Not even a whine.

"You just gotta stay awake, Mikey," she coos. "Awake and  _ squirming _ like the worm you are." He nods slowly, still not comprehending. "Until I'm satisfied, you keep writhing-- screaming, if you want, or silent, don't matter to me."

Her hands bring her jeans far enough over her fat hips and fatter ass, the glorious teardrop rump perfection rising above the dark denim. She lets it all fall down. "Yeah. Feels nice," she groans, and shakes a finger when he starts to come forward.

"Oh no, Mikey, no," Lita coos. "You don't get to eat me out. That's a  _ reward _ , for good slaves." 

Boom. His stunned fear feeds her all over again. Rewards her. Her nipples grow so stiff they actually make  _ her _ ache, just a bit, and her naked cunt streaks femmejuices down both thighs at once.

The orgasm hits her, just from what she has planned. Well, plus how terrified little Mikey has been left. But it's nothing compared to what Mikey's going to do-- or die.

_ Honestly, weak little thing like him? Street survivor  _ human _ , maybe able to bench two hundred kilos? Tops? _

_ Mikey's probably just going to die while I do him anyway. _

Mikey has been sentenced. He seems to get instinctively that his only route to survival is obedience. Nevertheless, that just leaves him hunched over forward, shaking and shuddering, his once-sparkling green eyes fixed on her feet like he knows how unworthy of her pussy he is.

Unworthy or no, he's going to serve.

Lita pulls her big hands up to her enormous mammary mountains. She squeezes them through her t-shirt, rubbing and fondling the Mustang Cobra print into the heavy, super-sensitive weights. Each grip would crush her little fucktoy into nothingness, but all it does is give her oodles of breastflesh to roll through her fingers. That, and almost unlimited waves of pleasure.

" _ These _ are what you're going to serve, Mikey," she snarls. "Look up, pendejito.  _ Look up. _ " Slack-jawed, already in shock, freezing cold in his nakedness but still trembling more from burning fear-- he looks. She strokes her fingers around the lines of the muscle car, groaning and squirming her ass around while the line of pleasured pressure runs over.

She traces the beautiful little gymrat washing the car, scaled to one point nine meters just like the day she took the original picture. That her family never notices the beefy bitch is wearing nothing but a thong and a smile-- on like a quarter of her shirts-- she considers an excellent sign of their progress into accepting  _ her  _ needs.

Mikey certainly notices. "He's still alive, ya know," she groans, the fear-fed orgasm still rocking through her body.

She lets him feel that whip of hope for just a bit longer, then purrs, "But he  _ was  _ in traction for a while." The low, rumbling laugh she unleashes on him nearly makes him urinate in fear.

The deadly predator's Hunger in her dark brown eyes makes it very clear that such a mess would bring an end to  _ all _ his fears-- forever.

Shuddering, gasping, she yanks off her tee with consumate care-- and Flash-plus speeds. Her cunt clenches, her clitty rewarding her for her sadistic feeding. It's like the shirt vanishes, only to appear on the crumpled pile of her jeans.

For all Mikey's paralyzed and couldn't possibly run, she grabs his shoulder as she cums, squeezing down hard enough. Her eyes widen, aroused and even more predatory. Her thumb drives itself in sharp and hard and he cries out almost immediately.

"Until I've cum not just once, not twice, but until I've cum five times… from crushing you between my boobs. You ready to  _ serve _ , ya little weasel?"

The zipper finishes, and he doesn't need prompting this time.

"Yes, please, Mistress Hunter! Please, let me earn my life! Please hurt me, please!"

_ Mine, forever-- or at least, as long of a forever as Mikey gets. _

Prey and prisoner, Mikey is in trouble. Just the way she looms her massive, massively curvy body over him-- looking at him like he's meat-- should tell him something about how long his future is.

And he is meat. Stripped of his clothes, all of his body is on display. Not much meat for the market-- but enough for Lita’s purposes.

One point eight-three meters. Tall, for a man, lean by biology and not just by the hunger of a nomadic scavenger, though he's got that. Wiry muscles-- which means feeble, somehow flabby and skinny both, staring up at the hugely built, thickly curved Hunter.

Lita has been generous, too; she's left plenty of bruises to cover him instead of the clothes he no longer deserves. If he lives, he'll get them back, even. Of course, even if he lives, he'll have the influence of her contempt for the rest of that life.

Clothes will feel wrong, itchy, or too big. Out of place, to be clothed; after all, he's naked, always, to Hunters. One more little burden for a wandering looter. One more lure, pulling him back to her tits.

Lita's huge knockers are already tingling from the prior play. "You as ready as my girls, Mikey?" she moans.

Probably not.

Mikey's hard, of course-- but that still doesn't put him on her level, even with his balls already going into production to refill from the last time. Stiff nipples bigger than his nineteen centimeter dick seem to be pointing right at him, backed by firm roundness that jiggles with each of her panting shudders. He's already hunched, skinny little shoulders pressing together and his arms trembling around his toned belly.

Honestly, his cock is the only thing hard on him-- and that isn't much at all. He's stiff enough to remember she doesn't like rudeness, though. "I can't ever be, Mistress Hunter," he groans. "But I'm yours, whenever and h-h… how… however you wish!'

So afraid that just admitting it makes him nearly break down sobbing-- he hopes he can live. Hope is one of her favorite chisels and favorite whips. She puts it in their hands, and they carve themselves.

"Fair enough, little man," Lita chirps happily-- and reaches over to snatch him up by the throat again. It's convenient, and given how fast she grabs him, it braces his neck against snapping.

For all he "volunteered," Mikey isn't exactly prepared for it, or able to accept the reality of it. Of course, many of her repeat customers aren't yet, either; even her best-trained Kennel bitches like Engine Joan squeak a bit when she yanks them.

Mikey here? Mikey lets out a stifled, "Oh, nrrrCK!" The impossible hardness of her thumb and its sudden, agonizing bludgeon are such a generosity.

  
He almost tried to say no, after all. The asphyxiation also helps keep that cute little cock of his hard, just the way Lita likes it. But mostly, other than the choked-off yelp, Mikey's brain just isn't fast enough to register being grabbed.

One moment, ground; the next moment, mere centimeters away from the shuddering, horny pants of the Hunter he's just begged to hurt him. "Hola again, Mikey," she groans, her other hand coming up to spank him  _ hard _ on the ass.

Hard for  _ him _ , anyway. She needs her vassals if she wants to really let go on spanking. But she imagines having her hand branded onto his cute little ass feels pretty hard enough.

His agonized cry is almost as lovely as the sizzling feeling of air superheating beneath her hand. Clenching buttocks trying desperately to escape, his legs kicking wildly as her thumb, still a bit hot, comes up to tickle his pathetic little nutsack. He cries out-- so unappreciative!

"Better be grateful, Mikey," Lita groans, the hand on his throat sliding around to his back.

Together, fingers on his ass and palm between his shoulderblade, she sinks him in. She's not even flexing her pecs up yet, so all he feels is the suffocating softness of her mammoth melons. He can't manage a question, just gurgling cries of pain, so she explains, inhaling and exhaling her hot breath over his face like she was going to snap his head right off.

"Gettin' you all revved up, hombrecito," she moans. "You gotta get my rhythm good, if you want me to cum for your pretty little butt. No free rides."

Still flicking his balls back and forth, mixing their agony in with a bit of pleasure-induction, she shoves him further and further in. Her breasts are wonderful things, defiant of gravity except for just a little extra jiggle. The treatment of his wimpy little body gets his legs kicking about, slamming into the softness again and again, like heavy sacks of grain.

He might as well be a fly, except he's big enough to get the tiny tickle of his movements over an especially large portion of sensitive titty-skin. "Might-- mm-- might be your only chance there, Mikey," she giggles at him between moans. "You passin' my nips just now--  _ squirm, bitch! _ "

She's pushing his head and shoulders in further against her breasts, his head near to her sternum. Her tits are fat enough and her cleavage deep enough to get a pretty good portion of him in-- especially when she plays the next card-- but she loves the panic they get when they think their entire bodies will be swallowed up.

"N-- yes! Yes I will! Yes I will!" he screams, kicking his legs around faster and faster. His knees and shins pound into her left areola, his foot sometimes reaching the nipple; his heel can't quite make more than the sensitive, salad-dish-sized darker brown of the right areola, but he's trying.

Trying isn't good enough for the mighty Moto-Lita. "Squirm  _ harder _ , pendejo!" she snarls. "You wanna even get  _ one _ climax before I putcha out? Maybe I hunt down anyone who smells like you to get what you owe me?"

Almost everyone has family. Almost everyone, even the lost, and the outcast, has  _ someone _ they'd die to protect. Is it a child? A parent? A lover, who has a safer berth Mikey was dreaming of finding enough loot to buy his way in beside?

Part of her, the part that used to be a hero, is revolted. It might have held up Tony's face, she imagines, but Tony has value.

Mikey and his entire family do not. And the part of Lita Delgado who used to be a hero, who gave stintless and threw herself into the breach again and again...

Is dead. Devoured by the all-consuming  _ HUNGER _ for which Mikey can only ever quiet a sliver. By the constant, pulling, tearing,  _ stretching _ burn. She thinks back on what the hero would have done for only one reason.

To laugh at the foolish bitch she used to be. So yes… she will threaten Mikey's family. And she'll act, too.

A sibling he's responsible for?  _ Yes, _ she decides as his panic kicks up and his monosyllabic chants degenerate into screams and sobs, finally making her breasts really feel his desperate attempt to survive. The thought is almost tastier than he is, and soon, her pussy is juicing  _ real  _ good.

_ Not quite the berserk panic of a parent for a child, not the revulsion that he's brought doom on a lover or a parent. A sibling. Mm… Brother, higher end of panic. _

"Ooh, yeah, that's it, Mikey," she grunts, starting to rut her hips back and forth proudly, her dark brown petals already quivering. Like they always do about now, he's thrashing his arms about like he's trying to swim in a sea of boob. They panic, when she shoves their heads completely into the darkness at the root of her tits, just below the line of her cleavage.

_ It's kinda funny-- holdin' 'em further from the press of tit to tit gives them room to breathe, but as their bodies get smooshed and they see the dark closing in… Panic! Delicious, delicious panic. _ She gasps as her Drives reward her, pleasure far greater than Mikey's thrashing spreading throughout her chest and pussy.

He's struggling now; she hasn't even flexed out yet, but she doesn't have to. The weight of her fatter than fat and firmer than firm breasts is more than enough, smooth and impermeable weight closing in over his weak little body. "Aw, pobrecito bebé," she croons. "Not enough-- mm-- leverage to kick, an' not even  _ one _ boobgasm for Lita?"

Lita's strong hands move up to grab his hair, yanking him back above the titline and grinding his neck back against itself. Eyes wide already, lips not blue yet but breathing heavy as his chest gets compacted. She makes sure he can watch her tongue swipe across her lips.

"It's okay, shhh, shh," she groans at him, so deliciously weak. "I take it out of your bro. Sure he won't mind."

But Mikey does. Screaming and panicking, he begins humping his whole body back and forth in her cleavage even before she lets his hair go and tucks him back in. All  _ she _ has to do is hold her arms around her breasts' girth and -- boom.

" _ Finally! _ " Lita moans, the first, mostly sadism-Driven orgasm hitting her gently, like the swallowing of stars en masse into the dark void. A nice little chaser; her clitty forgiving her for the wait.

It's a trick now, letting her body clench and flex and thrash around him without killing him outright. Not because she cares about whether he lives or dies… but because she wants to get her time's worth out of him.

So her cumming is constrained, almost like the opening steps of a dance. Her huge, brawny arms release Mikey to the tender not-really-mercies of her cleavage. The solid heft of spanning column-thick upper arms, not quite ready to show more than smooth bulges yet, compacts nicely against the edge of her shaking tits; her palms press at the front of her underboob, putting extra pressure on the bottom while her abs tighten up--  _ hard. _

The end result is that her breasts, bigger than some Hunters, support her captive as much as swallow him in between them. As the thrashing and shuddering is hit by dual panics, speeding him up in his desperate full-body titjob, her soft-seeming belly goes very hard indeed, abs starting to push out from underneath big enough and striated enough to make many of her sister Hunters feel very inadequate indeed.

She needs them, controlling her lower body so that the thrusting, pounding shifts of her hips, her apocalyptic thighs in flex doesn't make her slam her mega-muscled torso around, too. When she gets  _ really _ going in a climax, Lita can badly damage her vassals if she's not careful-- and that would just be from pinning them down.

But that's as close to mercy as she gets. Instead, pleasured and pleased by Mikey's predicament, she still wants more squirm, more living vibrator moments out of him, and her favorite instrument of agony is again, hope. "That's it, little titty-slut," she croons to him. "You got one!"

Got one and can hope for more. The sheer weight of her breasts are already starting to strain his muscles; they're much too much for him, even soft and shuddering along with him as her nips harden more. What will he do when she really gets to squeezing?

Lita wants to see. No, she's  _ hard _ to find out, her clit far stiffer than his prick, her nipples too-- and they're much bigger. So she pushes him on, hope and despair turning a man into a sextoy. Not even a dildo.

Just a breast-teaser, unfit for her wet heat or her muscular tunnel. She groans louder as he batters himself around, exhausting himself. "That's it, that's it," she purrs, bringing her arms together a bit.

Her forearms, stocky, strong, broader than poor Mikey's leg, squish back against her roundness, pushing his head out of the hot, musky darkness of her cleavage once more. He's got the look-- he's already cum at least twice, and now he's honestly even  _ frightened _ of a world that isn't full of tit.

  
_ Now that, chico? Muy excellente. _ Forcing him to rise, forcing him to fear clear air more than slow suffocation pleasuring her?

Oh, she's close to another climax already, just from that. "You slowin' down a bit," she tells him, raising an eyebrow and curling her toes as her heaving pants knock him around. "But it's okay, Mikey. Don' think of it so much as failin' your mistress-- think of it as gettin' more of my climaxes for your-- mm, little brother, is it?"

Lita's right. She's always right. The scream invigorates her little titty-prisoner once again; he's virtually diving back into the weight of her tits just to try and bring her off again.

And it does. She hugs her mammoth melons hard, vast muscles pressing in against the edge as the orgasm hits. Wordless this time, she throws back her head, hair dancing back over her pumped-out traps, shoulderblades shoving forward, she howls her pleasure to the skies while her pussy's gush soaks the earth beneath.

She groans again. "Hey, that's two, mi don nadie! You almost halfway there!" Giggling slyly, she reaches down to stroke around her plump, throbbing labia. The soft fleshiness and curvy ripples that even now Mikey is dreaming of through his agony are soaked with her arousal.

As much for his pain as for her breasts' pleasure. "Of course," Lita groans as she strokes her finger within her dark, beautiful petals, "Not sure you got half your bones intact there, eh?"

Mikey sobs, muffled by the cushiony smoothness that virtually fucks his mouth on its own the instant he tries to breathe, let alone answer her. Which is a nice feeling on its own; weak little man like him, he's not going to give her a hickey or nothing, but the suction is sweet. Especially when he starts to choke and gag for air.

_ Mmm, yes, but that's a reason to forgive his rude lack of response. _ The thought gives her a lidded-eye smile, making her soft, damp nether lips squeeze back against her fingers. She tilts her head left and right, bouncing her dark hair about happily-- and waits an exaggerated moment anyway.

Nada from her don nadie.

Shrugging, she hammers the massive heft of her left forearm under both breasts, takes a brief, happy bounce on her heels-- which slams Mikey up and down quite deliciously harsh between her titanic titties-- and slurps her essence from her long right index finger. "I taste so  _ good! _ " she squees happily.

Mikey just keeps on working his mouth over the dominating smother of her titflesh, so perhaps he agrees. Or perhaps he's still trying to breathe, the poor bastard. Either way, her slit soaks all the more.

"Mm-- mm _ mm _ … Oh, fuck yeah, little man!" Lita's eyes roll back in her head, surrounded by dark red blushing under warm brown skin "There we go-- whoops, that knee still okay? You gotta problem with your hips already, you kinda need them knees to do your part, eh?"

Only wordless gurgles meet her; the occasional, "Big!" or "Beautif…" or "Boobs!" making it past his lips.

Her "tiny" tall man pillow-passenger isn't doing so great. Mikey is already starting to crunch a lot, and she's only two climaxes in. Of course, the more he goes crunch, the more panting, "Ooh!" noises she makes, the more her core clenches over the absence of a cock that would  _ truly _ please-- and the more her big, badass butt bounces.

_ His _ hips may not be doing so hot, but Lita's hugely curved hips and delectably plump derriere are just fine, thanks. She's rolling them, shaking the perky assfat in jiggly oscillations, bouncing about squishy globes that look like more men would kill to worship them than rule the world. Certainly more would die, happily tonguing along the smooth, firm curves until their bodies gave out.

Mikey, she suspects, would have given up an arm to try it. Now?

Now the little looter is surrounded by arguably the most beautiful, full, and fecund rack on the changed Earth, which makes a pretty stiff argument for winner of the crown  _ anywhere _ . At least where breasts of the human variety are appreciated. Mikey certainly seems to be appreciating them, his battered balls pumping out more weak batter for her boobs to smish together.

She's not going to leave it all to him, though, him and his silly little limbs kicking about while trying to move against her endless firm acres of titflesh.  _ I'd have to hunt down all his cousins, male or female, to even get a shot at  _ three _ orgasms, let alone five, if I was gonna let him have it. _

"That's it, mi pequeñito," she groans, bouncing him about with her round, full arms and her colossal chest-- specifically, the muscles moving the knockers all around his spasming, beaten body. She's not quite going for force from her pecs, just brief little flicking flexes of the cosmological-tier strength of her chest muscles, but it's enough to keep her bitchboy-cum-tit vibrator wiggling hard enough to pleasure her.

Which is delicious enough on its own, but when his spinal cord starts to take damage? Especially in the cervical region? That makes Lita's motor  _ rev _ .

" _ Fuck! _ " she groans, her voice smacking her tits around on him all the heavier. It's just so much fun.

Not to mention the fact that she adores jiggling. There are tens of thousands of Hunters at any one time that can see her when she's above ground like this; possibly, all of them. And she might be able to do a census; of the hundred thousand or so of her kin, pretty much all of them start to feed her little jolts of shared sexuality, even submission, the moment she takes a boobsome shake of a step.

Lita raises her chin and looks down her nose at the whole fucking world-- or at least the Hunters, the ones who matter. "You like this, bitches?" she roars, letting her voice shake nearby buildings and clap together over Mikey-- breaking his nose, but who's counting?

Directly naked like this, fist-sized nipples and platter-sized areolae crinkling with arousal, pussy gushing, ass wriggling so much it's practically set to vibrate? It's not unusual for Lita's vassals and those of neighboring powers-- even in Candyland-- to climax in spontaneous submission to her, repeatedly.

_ It gets Candy Mandy jillin' it off too _ \-- which the three-meter supremely muscled super-Hunter is definitely doing, spreading thighs brawnier by far than even Lita's to show Lita her own pretty pink-- _ and that ain't submission. Flat out fucking dangerous, if I'm reading her offer to help 'feed' my Masochism-Drive right. _

She has no fear of the blonde cunt, though. Not even with whatever effect just looking at the Candy-ass twat makes her instincts inexplicably scream that Mandy will tease her and please her, challenge the world to protect her-- hell. Whatever unsubtle bit of mindwhammying is coming through is making parts of her believe Mandy would protect  _ Tony _ .

_ Unsubtle, bitch, _ Lita seethes, and curls her power-packed, stocky arms up under her squishy chest-cushions, and slaps her palms against her fat nips. "Yeah, you like mami's good stuff, but ain't none of you worth it!"

_ … but Lian would help my research watch my family so I could sleep tend my experiments play such delightful games with my slaves' heads and Mandy would-- _ Lita isn't some human, to be taken in. Snarling back into the kilometers-distant face of Mandy's admittedly  _ fucking stunning _ pussy is quite the rush, too.

So it thrills, even that. Exhibitionism, she supposes, fed by the carrots to the Hunter Drives' starvation stick. But what does she have to be ashamed of? Being so beautiful and strong that the other great powers of the world can't help but wish they had some part of this?

All of them. The hypocritical Princesses, stick-up-her-ass ID and her poor, pining Doctor Elixir, all of them… they watch, too. Flame Princess and Rankoma, the becocked futa Outliers outright jerk each other off as they watch, the latter pretending that she can't hear the former's emotions scream in the Pride bond, wanting to join Lita at her play.

_ And that ain't because I wear my tits better than Kasumi, bitches. _ Lita laughs and laughs and laughs at the knowledge of what Flame Princess-- and Nabiki too, the amoral cunt-- do whenever their smugly "moral" wives can't find ways to stop them. Mikey's brought along for the ride, too; she's pretty sure the exclamation point on that last laugh was dotted by his shoulder popping free of the socket.

It's also about the only time Lita-- or any other Hunter-- gets off from Stealers. It's a bit grody to think about, but, hey, every Stealer seems to have gotten the message that Hunters won't even fuck them to death. So there's little bits of painful yearning and denied desire there, too.

_ The rest is delicious, and that has the spice of the taboo… plus it makes it that much easier to distract the big ones while I punch them into goo, win-win! _

And if Mandy and Lian's offer is genuine-- if this really  _ is _ the "rightness" her luckier vassals have spoken of-- then half the fun of romance is the chase, eh?  _ If they know of me what I think I know of them, they'll know that I ain't gonna tumble in the back of an SUV with Cheerleader Mandy unless she knows my baby bro is the most precious treasure on this fucking changed Earth, and Lian better be ready to speak polite to Papa. _

As for Mikey, for the moment, he's just a soft little topographic set of feather-light touches, less solid against each breast than its twin. But he never was important here, was he? Just a convenient, worthless male nobody will miss.

Nobody important, anyway. Lita doesn't particularly give a shit about the brother. Except as a lever… and  _ maybe  _ as a next victim.

For now, she luxuriates in the exhibitionistic  _ power _ of her body. "That's it," she groans as she pumps her right quads, thunderstorm thicc and wrapped around like a sea of pythons, all moving together to meet a shift of her left hamstrings, like long dunes rising from a hilly beach. Yet harder than all but the changed Earth. 

Then they switch, not at blurring speeds, but just fast enough to make one succulently round rumpcheek bump up, the other rolling down, and vice-versa, on and on, a rapid stripper's jog-in-place, yet a dominatrix's confident, hypnotic arrogance waggles through it like it does everything. The slight smile on her round cheeks is knowing, and her eyebrow quirks as she bathes in her own senses' delight.

"You like some butt, Mikey?" Lita giggles. "Could let you feel that after, if you still awake."

Because that's just her ass. Mikey's head surfaces on one particularly enthusiastic series of jiggly pumps, his face red and purple and black all over, moaning, "the pain… the tits… the PAIN!"

He doesn't have to shout; her clitty hears him just fine, and it lets her know in the sweetest way. "Yeah, oki, Mikey," she giggles as she relaxes the feather-soft clench of her enormous pecs, the banded definition fading a little. "Mebbe not."

It sinks him down, his feet no longer kicking as wildly when they move below the luscious roundness of her underboob. "I know, pequeño bebe, ooh, I do know!" It's understandable; his half-broken knees and heavily battered tendons don't really have enough action left in them.

While Lita loves the feel of said titty-induced agony, it's really not enough. Her teeth chew sharply over her lower lip and she coos wordlessly, but she's not going to let it lie like that either… Not when her magnificently massive muscles are barely into the act!

Her mountainous melons are dense enough that slacking said muscles a bit doesn't immediately drop Mikey past her underboob; trivial enough for her to tap his feet with the dome of coiled muscle just below her left elbow and slam him back up.

Lita groans. "You really getting into this… maybe you survived a ride with some smaller, kinder Hunter?" she asks, laughing.  _ I suppose as long as it's a spectrum, kind _ er _ is more likely than kind… _

All he has to contribute is a weak little series of coughs. "Nngk… Ah… AHHHN!"  _ And a weak little climax with weak little seed and weak little splurts. I'm making more of a mess on my thighs from him surrendering to my tits than his whole wad. _

"No?" she asks, rolling her rough-hewn shoulders and popping her back while she wraps her musclebound arms across her colossal, roundly-blunt breasts. They're big enough that cinching her hands over as much of her hefty forearm opposite as she can still leaves her hands wide. Even just before the wrist, the extra layers of muscles are such that her own hands can't reach even halfway around, but she's strong enough to make use of far less viable handholds.

That much extra pressure is enough to get Lita biting her lip, grunting, and adding extra urgency to her stepping-in-place flexing of her lower legs. Just not enough to get Mikey his third climax. She's got a muscle mistress' sense of mercy, though…

She'll use her quite considerable strength to use her bitchboy captive for as many orgasms as his already bruised and broken body can withstand. Generous and merciful. The Hunter definitions thereof-- and whose else matters?

Mikey is treading titty, as it were, and she's not even gotten really pumped with her pecs, not yet. They're bigger than he is by volume, and far denser, but it's what they do to her tits that will really punish him. For the moment, she just uses her muscle control to hold him in place… and cinches her brawny arms tighter.

There are other Hunters' who backs don't have the strength that Lita's forearms do. For that matter, there are more men of the old Age than Mikey who hadn't as much muscularity in their whole  _ bodies  _ as those forearms-- just by physical form. And it's from there she starts to  _ really _ squeeze.

"F… fu… FUCK!" Lita gasps, her next orgasm climbing all the faster. She can feel the sensoria of more and more Hunters watching her, masturbating, envying, some already cumming, some trying so hard not to submit to her and suffering  _ so _ good for mami as they do. A few pointless metahumans, some tormented Stealers…

She can half imagine the ghosts of old Fremont, the crowds walking by. "Yeah, you little fucks thought you ruled the world, eh?" she pants at them, imagining man after man dropping trou and dropping to his knees, woman after woman slipping their hands against inferior little "breasts" less worth the name than what the men called "muscles."

"Oooh,  _ shit _ that's good," Lita cries, starting to flex her enormous biceps again. "Yeah, each one of you ain't no more than Mikey here-- and you love it." She giggles. "Those of you who ain't  _ real _ ghosts by now, anyway."

Like a closing stone temple trap, the powerful peaks of her gargantuan upper arms shove in against her super-sensitive tits, not so much rubbing up and down over Mikey as closing in on him. Her breastflesh really doesn't have much room to go anywhere-- her grasping fingers keep pulling her hands along, now over the spiralling mounds of muscle where the various strands of the forearms collect, just past the elbow.

"Yes… yes…" she cries as her huge nipples cram into something far harder than Mikey's feeble body-- herself. The pinch of grooved, broad musculature, blunt, and burly over the ultra-sensitive flesh always seems to pleasure-- and sweetly hurt-- her body so much more when there's some wimp getting destroyed by it. "Aw… yes… oh fuck, you such a  _ worm! _ " she hisses.

Even on the rare occasions when she's gentle, with specials like Engine Joan, it feels so much better than grinding her muscles over her nips on her own. Joan, and Calvin, and Anya-- her  _ good _ specials, they do all sorts of little things for her she can appreciate. Even love them, like crosses between sapient pets and sapient dildos.

For a random human like Mikey? That extra charge is that's making her clit feel like Mikey's licking it  _ and _ he's a "graduate" of some male-processing farm that specializes in oral excellence-- that's the only thing that makes him worth doing anything but shoving him between her thighs and squeezing, and squeezing, and  _ squeezing _ until she cums from the sheer muscular power from it.

Her hands are hot on her own stone strong flesh, but it's the searing heat of her breasts and their throbbing nipples that's making her eyes go wide and her pupils dilate. That makes her pussy flood and her G  _ swear _ it's getting fingered somehow. "Unf… ah… nnnnn!" she moans, reaching further and further over her arms.

By the time her thumbs and fingers circle over as much of the smaller circumference of her elbows as she can, her mega-amazonian muscles are so pumped out that they're squeezing and mauling her tits around with such exquisite pain it's a wonder she doesn't cream the three more Mikey needs to live in quick succession.

Some of it's pinched in big folds between the biceps and her knuckles. Some of it's squashed in close, like her nips against her forearms. She squeals happily, cramming her tits closer and closer together. At this point, Mikey is completely enclosed in titflesh, a faintly thrashing little nothing whose only purpose is to catalyze her greater pleasure.

" _ AHHHHHNNNNNN! _ " she screams, only barely remembering to pitch it  _ not _ to shatter glass, and brick, and steel. Her cunt clenches hard, clit throbbing as though she had some tiny little pixie stretched over it, wriggling to get free.

Lita twists her thunderstorm thighs towards each other, flexing out the hamstrings as she does. Her eyelids vibrate and her moaning wakens thousands of her aboveground slaves with submissively little climaxes of their own, just from the roar of her titgasm. Her perfect, plump pussy, beautiful in brown and darker shakes, soaks itself, her tunnel's muscles rippling like they had some appropriate sacrifice of a dick to squeeze.

Mikey barely survives. His clavicles aren't going to be healing right from the smashing pressure across his chest; and only some dark, hellish miracle can be responsible for the fact that he's still cumming out of balls that must feel flattened and a cock that's being crushed into the pencil she thinks it already resembled. Cut off from air, with lungs too compacted to take any in but forced to suck down the musky, sweaty fragrance from her skin-- the only pleasantness about the experience, that.

No one's really been able to tell her, but Lita can analyze her own chemical components well enough, thank you. Her sex pheromones and musk smell not unlike orange slices covered in perfect dark chocolate fudge, with just enough sugar to be sweet. An odd coincidence, but it gives poor Mikey some little recompense.

_ Not that the little bitch should need anything other than my pleasure but I  _ suppose  _ I can be a generous mistress and let him breathe my air. _ She grunts a bit, inhaling slowly, her muscles still showing off far-heavier definition in their flexion states from her full-body spasm.  _ Speaking of which. _

"Oh,  _ Miiiiikey, _ " she coos, voice still a little gravelly from the rough climax. She shifts her armlock down a bit, ecstasy spiking in her anew as her nipples pop out from their tight confinement and the hard, rough surface of her flexed-out forearms grind over more of her lower areolae. Her cunny gushes and, as she pulls her grip all the tighter on her enormous knockers, Mikey is pushed up towards the top.

Lita squirms her firm hips around, the shapely, curvaceous fat of them bouncing back and forth and back into place. Big brown booty and bigger brown boobs bobble and jiggle wildly as she clenches cunny and glutes in synch, shaking all along her torso. Her shoulders twist and she throws back her head, gritting her teeth; the repeated climaxes have her quite sensitive from her dark hair to her curling toes.

And Mikey's travel up and out is something special, indeed. For both of them. For her, it's an insanely delicious stimulation of her nerve-laden titfat. For him, a release from a deadly, crushing hold...

And a punishment trip.

Towards air, yes, out of the impossible furnace of her dark, destroying cleavage… but away from the sacred, sexual release of being enveloped by her. Mikey weeps but weakly in pain, but his timid, damage-demured voice grieves more for being released from her tits alive than from the nearness of death.

_ Fuck _ but that gets her motor running. Her tits and sadistic feeding already have her clitty-throttle open wide; given how much she's gushing, it's a good thing her engine gets going  _ harder _ when flooded. "Ooo, mi don nadie linda!" she coos, almost back to her peak.

Lita leans down, opening her eyes and mouth wide; long, red tongue reaching for her "passenger." His green-irised eyes are red-streaked and bulging from having his facial bones and flesh shoved inwards, and the compression of his chest cavity and lungs by her colossal chest.

Her cheeks flare out, just a little, as she inhales hard, tasting his desperate adoration, fear, and agony on the air even before her moist organ slaps the side of his face and laps up his exquisite misery.

She can read the strain and damage in the little tit-slave; Mikey fears her mouth like he would that of a giantess able to actually devour him physically.

The blunt red heft of her tongue smacks into his face again, slurping up his copious tears and sweat, laden with the biochemical ejecta of his agony. Her saliva marks his face in return, slicking him up for his return voyage down.

His gyrating hips finally serve her titties well. Dark red arousal blushing had already spread down to her overboob, but when the weak, broken little man slams his nearly  _ broken  _ hardon against her sensitive, dense titfat, well! She makes sure to reward his increasingly weak sobs by swirling her tongue over his head.

It's so good. Lapping up his tears, streaming down nearly as copiously as her musky-honeyed femmecum, as well as treating his body like he was a fragile but otherwise overqualified cock. He's such a sweet-tasting little worm that Lita cums again, good and hard.

He's looking up at her now, too. Shock and horror flow over the green irises and the reddened veins of the eyes bug out further; the jaw drops a bit lower, and suddenly, her titworm is a little vibrator too, shaking back and forth. It leaves him at ground zero, looking into her mouth as she creams again.

Mikey's wail is either all vowels, slurred by his damaged jaw, or somehow all consonants, turned into vowels with the pained scream. Either way, it's just another sacrifice to her pussy. Another rush for her Hunger, feeding on his nearness to death.

He cums, for all his package is heavily damaged. Lita doesn't begrudge it, the tiny little thing splurting thicker than ever within the rapid back-and-forth bounce of her enormous breasts. She's feeding far too well.

It's probably the sudden, bursting pressure along her expanding tits that leaves poor Mikey on the very brink. The plump-pumping flows out of her body through her core, translating into squeezing, pulsing abs, and the sudden burst of power along her already bulging, striated pectorals.

"Unnnn _ ahhhhn _ !" isn't much of a cumcry, but it's what forces its way out of her as his fearful self-sacrifice fills her preternatural "bellies." For a delightfully taboo moment, she feels like she  _ is _ going to devour him, like some fucking Stealer!

Always gaping, yawning voids, far fatter than her lightly chubby physical stomach. Her whole body, powerful and vast as she is, always feels like it's trying to pull in upon itself. Usually, she can take it or leave it; her will so much mightier than her well-fed Drives.

But little Mikey has become too addicted to pain, his battered, once-athletic body full of delightful submission and sexy squirming. A good little worm. But she's so Hungry,  _ ALWAYS HUNGRY, _ and that means she wants his fear.

So she scoops her brawn-pumped forearms further under her breasts, digging the hefty hardness up into the increasingly dense mass of her increasingly huge tits. His scrawny little man-body might barely make a dent big enough for him to fit now--

Well, in point of fact, the dimpling for him between her outrageously oversized breasts is quite a bit smaller than he needs to fit; after all, that's how she gets the titty-pleasuring, pussy-pleasing charge of crushing his scrawny little man-body--

But  _ Lita's _ burly arms squeeze in good and hard. As she curls her fingers against her palm and squeezes, it pumps out the enormous muscles of her forearms. The delicious expansion of power and muscle pushes aside the padding to reveal the ripped and heavily striated definition beneath.

Which jams the whimpering little Mikey up towards her inhaling maw  _ and _ sweetly pinches her own breastflesh to better bring herself over the peak. He screams, and screams, and screams, shaking the few parts of his body still able to move, regardless of whether or not it worsens the damage. It jiggles her breasts around a little bit, but they're getting so dense and heavy that even his core torso isn't providing much bracing against her fat boobs' crush.

When Lita has about as much of his fear of being devoured ( _ eugh! _ ) as she can stand, she pecks a kiss on his sweat-dripping forehead. The topaz warmth of her skin is lit with the red of arousal almost like a parka, coating her brawny arms, her immense torso, her powerful neck-- and of course, her moaning face. She begins to rock back and forth from the balls of her feet to the heels faster and faster as her muscles tighten up…

And her sex clenches  _ hard _ .

Shifting her squishy-jiggly torso in a snaky forward-S roll, she roars out, "Oh, yes, pequeñito! Almost there!" Of course, Mikey's almost gone, but the only one who should care about that is his brother.

She's decided if she has to track him down to get the last tit-gasm he owes her, Mikey's brother…  _ Hah, he has his wallet too. Angel, eh? Well, if I gotta grab you, baby, you  _ never  _ leaving. _

"Ooooh!" she cries. Maybe she won't need to pick little Angel up. More pleasure flows in from Mikey's increasingly weak flails, but still. If she  _ does _ …

No, he won't be leaving.

_ Not alive, anyway. _ . Still squirming and jiggling her huge body about, Lita kisses his panic-paralyzed head one last time. Before he can do much more than babble, "Titties," or "Please!" or "Pain!" a few times, she gives him a skull-straining slap on the head with her tongue, sending him right back down.

Around the same time, her hands flick beneath his so-called calves-- they don't even bulge further than the shin by more than three, four centimeters max!-- bruising the so-called muscles as she slams him into a fetal position between her breasts, more or less the majority of his body covered in the increasingly super-dense titflesh.

Then she strokes her strong fingers down over her still somewhat-squishy belly, going right for her treasure trail and the lightly fuzzy texture she loves so well.

Mikey isn't going to be escaping now, either. Even as her nails stroke through her dark, wild pubic hair and over the rounded mound of her pleasure-fattened pussy, she takes steps to help the ungrateful little worm. To save him his last failing, she powers her pecs up with a still harder flex.

She squirms her shoulders up and down, rolling opposite to the jigglesome gyrations of her hips. "Yes, little nobody,  _ good _ nobody!" she cries. It's harder and harder to feel him against the power of her breasts-- but she really needs him less and less anyway.

Lita has to be careful with how weak he is. It's honestly a bit vexing, how little density these men can take before the end, and it makes the final pleasure just a bit incomplete. That's why many Hunters who do  _ not _ have oaths to her are sliding their focus elsewhere.

Lest she decide that the cumming climax is insufficient, and only the tougher head and shoulders of a Hunter will do to really get her breasts off.

But Mikey has done his best. "Little more, don nadie! Jus' a little more and you get me off!"

And he'll go free, but neither of them really care about that. His wriggles are weaker; his hips and spine are just not intact enough to keep it up. Not with the weight of mega-boob hauling around him.

That's okay. Holding him this close to the edge of death carries with it a thrill like no other. Added to how much his steadily weakening struggles have already got her off and got her ticking, she's on the edge.

And over.

"Fuck, Mikey, YES!"


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lita Delgado, massive and powerful, has just finished a Hunter's snack on sadism and climaxes. Of the eighty to ninety she needs each day, Mikey only gave her five before she dropped him from her cleavage. Whether Mikey lives or dies doesn't matter to her, but she expects to get more orgasms-- many more-- from Fusion Fighter, her real breakfast.
> 
> Not because he's beautiful, or a good lover; he's neither of those things.
> 
> Not because he's strong enough to take a good ride as Hunters appreciate it; no, like all of mankind, he's pathetically weak.
> 
> Not because he has a big enough dick that she'll actually feel full, even if she has to be gentle with it; he certainly doesn't.
> 
> (Though, because his powers make him grow slightly when damaged, among other things, she expects to fix that problem)
> 
> No, she's planning to cum pails (no way he could manage buckets) because he's weak, hateful both generically and personally, a monument to the worst kind of "powerful" men of the old Age.
> 
> And that gets Lita very, very wet indeed. She's going to fuck with him, fuck him, and hurt him so much his very identity is consumed by her requirements for him.
> 
> What else is he good for?

Monday; 11:24 am

Five Weeks After the Pulse

Fremont, CA

Carmelita Delgado y Cardozo is one huge fucking bitch-- and usually, she loves it. A little over three and a quarter meters tall, built on stocky, heavy lines of powerful muscle stacked on top of muscle. A curvy, plush layer on top of it all that adds even more mass, she towers over almost all of the other post-superhuman wonders of the Changed Earth.

And in that hundred-thousand strong throng, she is lonely. Walking away from Mikey is far harder than it should be, for all his worthlessness to her. It was entirely a relationship of predator and prey, but for a short time, Lita had a relationship, had a connection to him.

This is Fremont, but more, it's the Bay Area. Everything from that north to the very edges of Candyland, and east until you get to Stealer Territory belongs to Moto-Lita. She has run the bounds, roared the truth to the skies.

She has made other Hunters bow down. Her drones, the ones outside any network Tony has access to, swoop in behind her. The damage her feeding and lust has caused will be erased, just like the brief connection to her appetizer.

Now, she's on her own again. How  _ did _ the Bat manage it? Even nearly unlimited wealth, the fact that sufficient shelter  _ and facilities _ for half or more of humanity to retreat underground was available seems absurd.

Even given the fact that the changed Earth appears to mean a  _ Hollow _ Earth, too.

_ Smart money's on nanites, and favors owed by alien construction companies, I swear. _

Lita's sensorium fills her with the city, then the Bay Area entire. Her proper prey isn't above ground yet. Only a few who aren't Hunters will walk under the noonday sun yet; those who do are generally Hunter coteries, the desperate, or the ones who think themselves clever.

Victims of all stripes, in other words. Threading through Lita's territory like a stream of sprites through a god game. And it would take so little to cheat code them into whatever she wants…

But her prey isn't among them, yet, and she's not surprised.

Now, Fusion Fighter is quite the asshole, but she's not surprised he's too lazy and too cowardly to actually  _ prepare _ for the supposed ambush. An "old colleague" from her days as a motorcycle-riding, power-armor-wearing super-genius who always kept suggesting she do clean-up at group meets and training conferences. Then pretended it was a joke.

Just like he pretended it was a joke when he asked Lita who the maker of her Moto-suits was. Repeatedly. And looked so shocked when the "chubby brown Mexican"--  _ My family's been here longer than yours, asshole!-- _ repeated that it was hers through clenched teeth.

Lita's got quite the big chompers now, thank you very much. She smiles them, sweetly vicious with her canines prominent, as she strokes supple fingers over the curve of her mound. The denim feel-- even the zipper-- is barely a blip against her invulnerable skin, but, hey-- she can feel blips in depth now.

_ It's gonna be so nice, feeling  _ him _ blip. _

Over the past five weeks, the little weasel has hidden beneath the Earth, using his superpowers to bully other refugees and try to create a little "defensive association"-- read: gang under his control-- to try to attack the Hunters. A lot of big talk-- especially nasty shit about Lita being  _ weak _ that's made it hard for her to wait but she is stronger than her Hungers, dammit!-- but little action.

Lita doesn't see him or feel him above ground. It's mere minutes until the assault he had pestered Engine Joan into making, the betrayal for the "greater good" is supposed to go live. He doesn't even have the courage to monitor it; probably still yacking it up and overviewing security cameras in  _ her _ territory!

Looking for intelligence, he calls it. And he reached out to Lita's pre-Pulse mentor and good friend, Engine Joan. Trying to find a way to get to Lita; convincing himself and other tissue-paper weak juggernauts of the old Bay Area metahuman community that she's a  _ defective _ Hunter, of all things.

She struts through  _ her _ streets. Empty of cars like so much else. Lita made sure to seize farmland  _ fast _ , and has been working on hydroponics almost as much as she has defenses. The number of Hunters pouting and flexing and roaring when they discover that they're going to have to move food themselves or rule over cannibals and then nothing…

_ Are we  _ actually _ sure that we're all super-intelligent? Has anyone checked? _ It makes her giggle as much as the jiggle in her hips from each new sway.

Lita wanted to have Fusion Fighter in her Kennels within days. But he was a sly little weasel, and while the Bat didn't trust  _ him _ with any access to the cache network, he was able to influence those who had. To pull him out, she would have had to move away from her people before she had a network of defenders-- or work to lure him out.

Joan has been far more cooperative. As far as he knows, cooperative with him. She remembers Joan's little summary.

\---

They'd gone over the whole mess last night before Lita had closed down the Kennels. As much as she'd always known that Fusion Fighter was the belligerent kind of stupid, she couldn't help but still shake her head in disbelief. "And he's not asking you for  _ any _ proofs, Joan? Just the attempt, and then he'll swoop in?"

"Yes, I know." Joan threw her green-gauntleted hands high. "Max has always been a bull in a china shop, but this is just plain ignorant. He's been whispering shit on the lists he thinks he cut you out of."

Engine Joan is a tall enough woman for a human. Of course, the fact that she's a techno-assimilator as well as a technopath helps. She's kept her grandfather's green armor with black myomer and cabling scheme, though instead of resembling a bulky robot, she looks like a full-body cyborg with organic-imitation styling, right down to the sculpted breasts and etched musculature.

Back in the day, of course, she'd barbie-sculpt what amounted to a one-piece swimsuit out of the harder armor, though even then she'd avoided shoes over her "cybernetic" feet. Now, to Lita's great amusement, Joan has assimilated blast-shielded plastic over ray cannons for the breasts, though they're still armored to the areolae. Unless she's in the Plex proper, of course.

Those are translucent, as are the nipples, so if she doesn't go to full power, she can just make the darker green of those super-sensitive zones glow. And Lita has cause to know just how soft Joan can make her absorbed technology when she wants to. How fleshlike, and how responsive to touch.

At a little over two meters and change, Joan is bigger than she used to be, but even with the additional styling and myomer-load for her limbs, she's not a Hunter by any means. Just a pleasingly built ballerina-- and a tiny dancer indeed, before Lita.

If Joan was right, Lita's patience had finally paid off. All the while Max-- Max Vetter, Fusion Fighter, a pathetic Grant Emerson knockoff by genetic joke-- had been trying to influence Joan with about all the subtlety of one of Lita's tits, Joan had been cultivating  _ him  _ far more successfully.

Lita rubbed her eyes and whispered a few quiet profanities in her favorite six languages, then sighed. "I know, you said," she grunted, slapping the juicy roundness of her unflexed belly, then flexed it hard enough to make all of her heavyset abdominal muscles stand out like the ideal from which Joan's armor was inspired.

"He thinks I'm  _ weak, _ " Lita snarled, then gently stroked the silvery-black cables Joan uses for hair and a variety of combat and utility purposes when armored up. "Shh, shh, it's okay, I know you don't like agreeing with him, mija."

Joan's helmet was retracted, so the "hardened" green armoring her cheek was warm and pliant when the little-big meta rubbed it against Lita's thickly padded and powered forearm. "He keeps saying you're fat like it's a  _ bad _ thing-- like most weightlifters aren't stocky. Men as well as women!"

Lita knelt down a bit and brought her huge palm up behind Joan's head, playing her fingers through the cables. She pressed the quivering woman, barely belly height otherwise, against the malleable firmness of Lita's impressively cushiony left breast. "Shhh," she said again. "Focus on the plan. No updates?"

Joan squeezed tight to her former mentee's heavy melon. For wickedness' sake, of course, Joan had just enough rounded but definite edges on the armor "plating" between sections of limbs and whatnot to get pinchy, but the best she could do is give Lita a pleasing little grip on a smaller section of breastflesh. Multiple little points of pleasure across the mammoth mammary.

Joan's body might have appeared to be robotic, but when her hug's tautness got Lita moaning and licking her dark lips, it made quite the lubrication effect on Joan-- and some adorable, robot-like squirming. Complete with click-hiss noises, of course; Joan's super-strength and speed  _ come _ from the machines she's absorbed.

Nodding slowly, she chuckled and pulled back, slapping the bright-green glowing areolae of her tit-cannons. "How he got a hold of an old Intergang anti-Superman blaster, one of the Apokolips originals, I don't know. Why he thinks it'll work on you…"

Lita snorted. "Because he thinks fat equals weak equals defective, remember? But enough 'real' Hunter so that when you vivisect me, you can recreate Doctor Elixir's formula."

That got some laughter from Joan. "Hah. He usually remembers to add 'without the rape' but not always." Then she knelt herself, and forced her mouth to stretch around Lita's can-sized nipple.

Well-pleased, Lita stroked Joan's hair-cables as the technopath bobbed her head back and forth, swirling her tongue over as much of the tip as she could manage. When Joan earned one of Lita's climaxes-- and just as importantly to the little engine slut, one of Lita's approving smiles-- she popped her head back off the huge nub and wiped the saliva from her lips.

"It's pretty clear what he  _ really _ means… mistress," Joan groaned. "You were so kind to me when you took me. Please, domina…"

Lita chuckled and reached down to grab Joan's armored green ass. The techno-organic alloy was as pliable to her hand as Joan herself. It had taken them a few hours of painful experimentation to find the right combination that would be unyielding to most but still have enough give to bend rather than shatter. They'd both enjoyed their time.

But she knew Joan's problem. Joan made the transition from mentor and ally to hopelessly love and lust-lost addict, a total slave, quite well, and while she code switched well enough to act normally with Lita's family… Well, she knew being greedy with Lita's so-called mercy was a good way to lose it.

But Joan's obedience earned her a lot of latitude, just like Max's offense earned him an entire  _ schedule _ of training.

Wrapping her arms around the short, armored behemoth, Lita picked Joan up and cradled her softly against a tit massing more than she. Joan blushed happily, a light glow of infra-red heat under her facial armor, as Lita slapped her ass twice firmly. Lita always loved how Joan's plated rump got all wiggly when beaten even lightly like this.

" _ You _ got a couple of spankings when you tried to beg me to 'remember the hero,' mi cariñita," Lita said softly. "I think those extra sensors of yours showed you the truth faster."

Joan giggled, the older woman wriggling around like a child in her powerful mistress' arms. "Especially when you smothered me, mistress. Saints above, your breasts-- your ass!" She sighed and put her wrist to her forehead.

Heavily-armored and muscle-bound as she was, it was quite an adorable sight. "Anyway," she snorted, wrapping her arms happily around as much of Lita's left breast as she can, "I'm supposed to blast you with these, and then let him 'finish the deal'. Probably a Fusion Fist."

_ These _ being her tit-blasters, pushed forward against Lita's far weightier melons with a chest flex. Not a Hunter, Joan was able to absorb custom-built robotics to imitate some of the more fun motions. Both women laughed for some time, Joan happily bodysurfing the waves of breastflesh.

"I'm going to want you to work on 'fusion fists' with him, dear," Lita laughed. "I'd break the little thing. Will you be able to make the blast, or should I use a holodrone?"

"I will be there to bring you your prey, domina," Joan said seriously. "How could I not? I could barely scorch  _ Vicki _ with these, let alone you."

"Mmm, let's talk profiles for energy emission after I Lita Fist you for a bit, cariñita," Lita had laughed. "I want you able to defend against floor-tier threats. Not that Vicki would dare."

\---

Thinking about the fun they'd had after that brings quite the smile to Lita's face. Owning a woman who can absorb and extrapolate vibrators to the meta-industrial scale isn't the same as owning a Speed Force Conduit, but it's pretty nice, and Joan is, indeed willing. It almost brings as much of a smile as the thought of Max Vetter in her grasp…

And her cleavage, and between her thighs, and so forth. And so on. A lot of so on.

Broad and toothy, just a little bit of the lower lip running over her right canine, Lita's smile is Hungry and devouring, her mouth as ready for this as her lower pair of lips. She curls up her powerful left arm again, watching happily as the enormous bicep peaks up and out. It's not like her arm lacks all definition when it's "just" huge and rounded; like the Goddess of Weightlifters she resembles, she's got the muscles, just broad and padded.

But now, bulking out like this, Lita's arm has more grooved tightness and crisp lines than Fusion Fighter's entire body. He's just lucky he's kept in shape; a lot of her playthings his age would get the Mikey treatment at best, or a muscle mistress' "mercy" at the worst. Her nipples stiffen and press against her shirt again, and she checks the time.

Eleven twenty-eight. She reaches down to squeeze each huge nub of super-stimulative flesh, then traces the picture. "Good thing I've got a lot of these, eh? He wouldn't be worth the sacrifice, else."

Her voice echoes down the empty city streets. It will be so nice when she can finish getting her vassals trained to patrol and sentry properly. Re-adjusting humans to think of life above ground as safe-- as safe as anything for a human, anyway-- isn't going to take much longer, but she isn't going to risk her oaths, or her property, foolishly.

But right now, she's thinking of someone who's going to be getting the  _ honor _ of making special oaths with her.

The arrogant little piggie will be on the surface soon. So at last, Lita can scratch the itch named Fusion Fighter without endangering those she loves. She just could not afford to follow his piggie sweat scent below the Earth, where her penetrating sight will be blocked through the dark miracle of the Titan Massmind.

And that is why Candy Mandy's email still bothers her.

"Look, bitch, we've been dancing around this long enough. We  _ both _ know what you want in the bedroom acquisitions department, right? And territorial mergers have their benefits, baby. Just trust me!"

Even in a sample, the crazy cunt's wild innuendo could mean anything from, "Look, let's just bang and see what happens," to "Lian and I are taking over." Lita can make them pay for the latter… but in the end, it all depends on what price they're willing to pay, now that they know their rightness spoofing isn't fooling her.

That's half the reason why she's glad that Joan finally got Vetter to take the bait. Lita needs the stress relief. And to have her Hungers fed and her mind sharp for dealing with the Candy Girls.

Because among the other post-superhuman predators called Hunters, she stands almost entirely alone. No marriage bond. Her vassals are minions at best-- people minions, but minions.

And no matter what other morality Lita has discarded to adapt to the new world and the new axioms, she will always love her friends and family dearly. So she must consider the threats of other Hunters… always.

Even though all but like six of them would cower at her feet if she clenched a fist, let alone let the bulge of suddenly super-defined musculature travel along her frame from fist to forearm, forearm to upper. Of the final six, one will always be her enemy. Two talk down to her in ways that remind her of a more sincere version of Fusion Fighter.

One is a hauntingly beautiful Latina woman, Lupe Lòpez. Lupe isn't far-- she's taken over most of Montana and is expanding into other parts of the interior Northwest-- and Lita sees so much potential in her.

Companionship, love, sexual chemistry and the chance to both feed and be fed with one who can take it and be trusted to dish it out. The scout to Lita's planner, the eyes and ears to feed Lita the data she  _ needs _ to protect what's hers-- and an ever-faithful ally at her back.

Unfortunately, that potential-- theoretically the filtered product of all of Lita's preternatural senses and somehow an honest offer from Lupe's hyper-fast, super-synergistic powers-- speaks to her in the same way Candy Mandy and Dragon Lian's enormous frames do.

_ How can I trust any of them, if it comes from the same source? _

The biggest bitch and one of the tallest, a married pair of terrifying ultra-amazonian predators among the most savage, strong, and sexy of the sisterhood of Hunters. Worse, they're pre-Pulse Hunters; Lita was literally a part of the Pact between women on both the "hero" and the "villain" sides of the costumed divide. West Coast North American division, too.

She's worked alongside Jaguar Divine, for heaven's sake, trying to bring Mandy and Lian in-- or at least, to chase them off. Back then. Before the Pulse.

No-one wanted them raping, torturing, and murdering all males-- because the way they treated even the men they found "cute" used them all up in time. Their plans for the male population long term were horrifying enough when Lita still thought that a morality based on sapiency and sentiency was appropriate.

Now, she finds the Candy Girls wastefully excessive, with a Mikey or more a day, each! And they are a threat. To the men who have sworn to her; worse, to the men she loves.

_ Papa. Tony. Fuck you, Mandy. Fuck you, Lian. I don't know how you bitches figured out a way to spoof the bond-compatibility instinct, but I guess it fits. After all, the rumors that we "know" it can't be spoofed… come from pre-Pulse Hunters. _

In Candyland, men are owned. Everyone who isn't a Hunter is a slave, but for women, life at least goes on in a way. But suddenly, you're responsible for your closest male relatives.

Sons? You have to kennel and homeschool them. Oh, Mandy and Lian are setting up educational cavern systems just like Lita. It makes sense to keep the next generation of fucktoys and workers safe, right? And even Mandy and Lita find kids cute.

But they find little girls cute as imitation people. Little boys are domesticated animals, to be trained, and in time, sold to other women. Girls will get free education when the schools are done. Boys…  _ That is  _ not  _ happening to Tony! _

Married? You're rushed over for a new marriage ceremony with the fanatic Ebon Widow Way warrior-zealots, and regardless of whether you had "love and obey" or just "love and cherish" and something, you have to  _ swear _ to keep your man well-disciplined, to reduce his "pretensions" of humanity, and to "help" him learn to love female muscles and female strength.

Lita's fine with that last one; in a world where one hundred thousand or so women define what muscularity  _ is _ , it's become almost suspiciously easy for martial arts like the Ebon Widow Way to provide ki-boosts to women's strength. Supersoldier formulae designed  _ just  _ for women are pumped out of so many different Hunters' genius stables that they've become cheaper than anabolic steroids. Lita  _ did _ test to see whether they could be tailored for men, too.

The level of reality tailoring that  _ has _ happened made it an eye-opening experience.

And if the new life-force based weight training routines  _ do _ work to increase strength and body-fitness to moderate superhuman levels, for anyone, human or meta, woman or man, then in Candyland, it's not just banned for men, but compulsory for women.

Not a deliberate erasure of millennia of the patriarchy. Not even deliberate inversion. Lita no longer cares, honestly, about equality amongst her property, save that it produces more efficient workers. Just like letting them accumulate wealth does, even though she makes it clear she can take it away when she wishes.

It's not like she would object to a matriarchy. Matrilineality already makes more sense than taking the father's name in the first place. How humans rule themselves is just so fucking petty; the efficiency differences between different forms of dominance and bigotry are all so small, so easy to compensate for with the mind of a Hunter.

If a matriarchal mirror of the twentieth century-- hell, the nineteenth, whatever!-- was the only cost involved in believing Candy Mandy and Dragon Lian could be the allies she needs to expand securely? Then, fuck, Papa and Tony can change their name to just Delgado, and Lita would just grind the edges off the Girls' gynarchal bullshit slowly.  _ And I wouldn't be alone any more! _

What Mandy and Lian have in mind is a social replacement with something so past inversion as to be an entirely new perversion. Not inequality of the sexes; complete and utter separation of the species. Women, the new superhumans; men, subhuman property whose pain should be considered a sacrifice to their personal demigoddess owners.

Ignore for a moment-- though Lita never can-- how  _ completely fucking counterproductive _ that is for humans, confusing the poor things with Hunters. Ignore how it strips half of the workforce completely out  _ or _ puts them in positions where their health and output for the economy as a whole is critically impaired.

_ Again, not that I can ignore that, and you beautiful idiots shouldn't. No matter how much it tickles your clits! There's a  _ reason _ you're living in whatever shattered ruin you've managed to repair and I am developing next-generation living environments that will let my people lead surface and Under-lives… _

_ And no matter how tight the Moto-Plex can be, the core areas of the Kennels are a fucking palace for me! _ Lita is not sure why it worries her so much that Mandy and Lian are living  _ Mad Maxine _ style. They've made their choices, they deserve the consequences.

So ignore  _ that _ .

There is  _ nothing _ more important to Lita than the lives, health, and happiness of those she has given her love to. So when her senses tell her that  _ Candy fucking Mandy _ is going to be the perfect over-queen for her if she'd only submit? A generous lover but firm sadist to feed all of Lita's ever-gnawing masochism Hunger pangs?

_ The defender and champion of her brother and father? _

That  _ Dragon Lian, _ the one who makes Mandy look positively egalitarian, could have a relationship with Tony like he has with  _ Joan _ ? That while Lita was getting those long, comparatively lanky legs wrapped around her head and eating the terrifying warbitch out, she could let Lian exhaust her… Because Lian would (hah) tear apart all but the Earth her-himself to destroy those who would threaten Tony?

_ If it's not bad enough I have to have total hottie crazy psycho-bitch gynarchal ultra-predators as my neighbors trying to get into my pants, ultra-predators who are definitely stronger, faster, and more ferocious than me, I also can't say they have the subtlety of my tits. _

_ They'd need help to become that cunning! Gaia, Geb, and all the Names of Stone,  _ this _ is the pair who keeps me out of their computers? How? _

Lita sighs. "Ain't worth your time, Lita. Ain't worth your time. Just remember…" She strokes her tongue over her full, curved lips and wriggles a bit like she was carrying another Mikey off with her.

"This ojete, he gets stronger when he takes a hit. He ain't got what it takes to go the distance…" She whines happily, and squeezes her still-soaked vulva through her jeans. "But he's gonna go a lot farther than  _ any _ Mikey."

This has been coming for a long time. The cumming shall be sweet, indeed.

The familiar muffled rush of sound-baffled and sensor-shielded robotics brings a smile to Lita's strong, round face. Engine Joan-- in barbie-dolled onesie armor-- is "covertly" coming up inside one of Fusion Fighter's old apartment properties in Fremont. She'll be under Vetter's view, but it doesn't matter. They both know the plan.

Lita takes her time, though anticipation would have her zoom into Joan's line of fire. The Hungers belong to her; she is  _ not _ a Candy Girl. But she adds an extra hypnotic wiggle and bounce to her exquisitely broad curves, her hips waggling from left to right with metronome precision and serpentine sensuousness.

A reward for Joan, giving the woman plenty to drool over when her sensors pick Lita up.

A trap for Vetter, sure to be watching like a perverted landlord, drooling over inward-turned security cameras.

He'll be monitoring it all. Joan might have even convinced him to network into  _ Joan's _ sensors, in which case he'll be getting posthypnotic sounds as well as be drawn into the curvy rolling of flesh on Lita's mammary mountains and gorgeous bubble butt. Lita hopes not.

She wants him to suffer.

The air roars softly, like a jet passing too close to the otherwise mostly empty residential district. This area belonged to one of her vassals-- before Lita made her a vassal, of course. Now, like everything else, it's Lita's, but she lets the vassal's Pride manage it.

She's already promised Karen some time with Vetter once he's properly trained for "reinforcement," and of course, Lita's drones will take care of the repairs.

The burst of lensing plasma from Joan's tit-cannons is a lovely little joke. From the point at which the hypertech power cells Joan absorbed begin to spin up for catastrophic release to the moment in which the nipples iris open-- Lita will not permit one of her best-loved slaves to be damaged, even temporarily-- Lita has had countless opportunities to rush up to where Joan is and yank her around.

None taken.

She has similar opportunities from the point at which the New-God scorching burst is released, vaporizing the front half of the apartment building so fast and thoroughly there isn't even enough left to catch fire when the heat wavefront hits, to the point that the blast is millimeters away.

All Lita does is turn to face the blast, clear on the cleavage. It sadly vaporizes the top-front of her tee, but she does have more. It's not going to be much harder to repair the rows of empty apartment complexes than it will be to  _ make _ a new shirt, anyway.

Most of the blast is absorbed by her giant, wobbling breasts, rich and plush and firm. She has to flex at post-superhuman speeds, bulging out her traps, obliques, and abs to shred the rest, lest it be too suspicious that only her jeans remain on. "Joan? NooooOOOoo!" she screams, and fakes a stagger back.

The remnant glows and crackling energy across her skin are holograms from her belt buckle, but Fusion Fighter won't know.

Just like he won't know that Joan's aural receptors are being played loops of Lita in near-climax. "Joan, yes! Oooh, yes, good Joan, mami  _ likes! _ " That the only reason Joan is sobbing and running away is because they pre-programmed her facial motors… and Joan wants to get to a good spot to watch Lita play with Max.

She's got one, and the  _ special _ hookups are creeping out right now.

Joan does so love getting to peep while she's mummified in adaptor cables she can't assimilate or control, linking to every part of her body. She's going to suffer along with Max. With filters, of course.

Lita doesn't train her  _ valuable _ slaves to seek out the level of destruction she's going to visit on Fusion Fighter. She loves the little sluts too much for that. Max…

Will probably  _ always _ be a full-service slut.


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a little fun. Moto-Lita is one of the most powerful entities on the changed Earth-- and hence, throughout the halls of Hypertime-- and yet, she's spending her time staggering around, pretending to be heavily damaged. Just to sucker him in.
> 
> Just to make it his choice. When she takes him. When she makes him hers, forever.
> 
> Because before the Pulse, Max Vetter decided that a young, curvy Latina couldn't possibly be the supergenius she was. Couldn't possibly resist his "leadership." Couldn't possibly be more important than him.
> 
> It was a mistake then, making an enemy of a woman who already had her own industrial/mining complex, deep below Fremont. Before the Pulse, of course, she'd merely intended to humiliate him through success. Through becoming a combination of Steel and Batman with her own motorcycle twist-- and leaving him behind.
> 
> Now, it's the time of the Hunters, and Moto-Lita is a queen in muscles, might, and mind.
> 
> Why is she wasting time hypnotizing him with her jiggles and grinding his will away with her voice?
> 
> Because she can-- and because his agony tastes so very, very good.

Sometimes, Lita isn't entirely sure why she plays these little games. It's not like Max would be that much of a threat to Joan. Not with all the work the pair of them have done on her.

She carefully stumbles back, making sure to damage as much of the surrounding area as she can. It clears the playing field, and kicks up dust. Fusion Fighter has always relied on his own abilities; the technophobic nitwit even complained about having to use radio earbuds on group missions!

He won't have goggles, let alone sensors.

Joan could have taken him personally. Privately. On any number of occasions.

A meeting. Perhaps toxins; the ability to absorb, store, and redirect energy does not protect one from biology. Perhaps sonics, not at a sufficient intensity to trigger the man's absorption abilities, but to carve away his silly, feeble little capacity to think and focus. Maybe posthypnotic suggestions in "reflections" on Joan's armor-- holograms, in truth.

Or, maybe not a meeting. There are some things sacred, after all, and even if Joan hasn't sworn oaths to the man or given more than a few, minimal assurances, a reputation for honoring truces that the enemy doesn't know about can be useful.

Lita makes sure to sway her hips with a little bit of extra exaggeration. To wobble and squeeze and bounce about, like she might if, say, Mandy stopped making weird e-mail threats and actually punched her. Deliberately designed to reward poor Joan, already ensconced in a nest of python-like cables, wrapped all around her and refusing her techno-assimilation talent like she was a normal human with a few implants.

To reward Joan, and to warp Vetter's mind. He's watching; her sensorium can tell.

Screaming, toes curling, she wobbles backwards precisely along the appropriate vector. "Aaaaii!" Of course, by  _ extra _ exaggeration, Lita practically means "rutting her hips as though fucking the little pinhead's face already."

She never walks subtly-- she can't. It's not mechanically possible. Even when she moves lightly, working to avoid other Hunters' notice, or out of respect meeting a lesser but trusted ally and not wanting to make her soak her panties.

Her hips just won't allow it. Much too broad of structure; her muscles and fat could dwindle away to thin little layers no bigger than an  _ actually _ skinny little boy's, and the bones beneath would make every step into a cross between a swagger and an invitation. With the incredibly curvy padding and powerful musculature beneath?

Every step is an  _ order _ . 

Lita grunts. "What-- how?" she gasps, wrapping her broad, powerful forearms tight over her invincible tits.

The hardness of her nipples could cut spacetime, if Gaia-Geb permitted such here.

So yes-- maybe not set Max up at a meeting. When they know you not only  _ can _ beat them while being better than they are but  _ will _ beat them while being better than they are-- ah, that's a lovely tool to destroy the will to fight.

But that still leaves so many options. Drones, hunting through tunnels. Misuse of access to the internet, Max's braggadocio and lust for self-satisfaction far more powerful than his otherwise commendable paranoia.

All it would take would be a hunt with the right hounds, and Lita could have her slave and Feed on him too. Without this rigamarole. Without the extensive property damage.

_ Without the fun! _ Lita's full lips pull back into a sweetly wicked smile, chewing lightly on the inside. But she lets it slip back into the mask of pain, shock, and confusion she's settled on for the day.

Electrical tingles of anticipation run over the glistening smoothness of her immense breasts. The squishy, jiggly masses always feel it first, and the pleasure runs through to the tightening of her abdominals, barely hidden by the plush layer of squoosh that gives her a lovely belly. Then, it takes a swift trip down, like it's following her thick tiger trail down to her bush.

"Uhn… No!" Lita grunts; deep in her cable-cocoon, Engine Joan's aural and tactile sensors are full of pre-recorded, " _ Yes _ !" Like precursor waves before an earthquake, the  _ anticipation _ of sadistic satiation spreads out in waves.

Like her pubes are soaking it down to her mound. To her clit. To her wetness.

There's even a bit of M-Drive feeding, too. Having to put on this performance? For a slave?

_ Oh, yeah, and some of it even ties to the little bitch, too! _ The shock of that feeding rushes into her. Fills her. So slim a meal, such a sliver of a french fry of humiliation.

But it feels so  _ good. _ Her eyes widen and her jaw drops. There's an extra quiver in her head, rocking back and forth. An extra jump and jiggle; a little more vibration in the bullbreaking thickness of her heavily muscled neck and shoulders.

Even a little drop gets her whole body charged, when all she ever  _ has _ is droplets.

That's the  _ other _ reason why she had much of an entire apartment block vaporized. That's why she had one of her favorite shirts destroyed. That's why she's going to use up her valuable time, why her nipples would already be stone-hard if she wasn't in complete control of them.

Because it's so much  _ fun _ . No substitution for the personal touch. And she intends to get very, very touchy-feely with Max Vetter.

Humans are often just as confused as to why Hunters find certain victims as attractive as they do; why physical goddesses spend so much time and focus creating elaborate, sadistic scenarios. Even understanding the Drives, perhaps understanding the delight that Hunters find in feasting upon the weak, and abasing those who  _ think _ themselves strong.

But Max Vetter is getting Lita Delgado  _ wet _ .

She works it, of course. " _ Fuck _ ," she snarls.

Squirming her thighs together, concealing the pump and bulge of her hamstrings with a bit of an extra shimmy as she stumbles towards the hill that's most impregnated with his scent. Flexing her calves, making the ferocious, almost spiked, balls of strength pump out but unevenly. But she keeps herself just to damp, and not to gushing.

Yes; as worthless as he otherwise is, Fusion Fighter is working up quite the anticipation for her. Her tongue works around, hidden behind her teeth. Both pairs of lips moisten for him.

Moto-Lita. Warqueen of the Bay Area. Not the biggest domain, but one of the most secure this quickly after the Pulse. Her forces are legion and they are  _ gorgeous _ . Powerful-- but none to rival her. Ferocious-- but none so savage as their mistress.

Perhaps it would be better to say both pairs of lips moisten for what he  _ represents _ .

He's got a cute little cock. Adequately girthy, nicely veined,  _ choice _ blunt tip-- it's nice. Not top twenty in the Kennels, but she's looking forward to adding him to her sausage parties. But if she wants dick, she even has a few of her sisters who are futa. Vetter will be a significant addition to her metahuman gene pool for chrysalis-active experiments; perhaps even the key to recreating Project Telemachus.

Not for himself, of course.

An energy redirector who can shatter a Dominator battleship when charged to the fullest?

_ Eh. I call that "throw one of their fighters at it" and then call it a day. _ Another tremble of pleasure threatens to undo her mask, clenching in her tunnel somehow linked to her lips wanting to curl back and part. Still, Lita keeps her "despair" on full.

Even when thinking about Grant Emerson between her thighs, or-- since there's probably a reason to have gratitude for restarting the universe-- more accurately, a custom-made clone.

_ But an energy redirector who was once used to restart the Big Bang? I call that  _ power _ , power that even a Hunter might find a pleasant mount. _ Max is hopeless, of course.

But that hopelessness,  _ not _ the power he represents, is the second most important reason why he arouses her. Why her hands itch to seize and her nipples perk at the thought of an aging, bigoted "hero," with no more physique than the slender darlings of bodybuilding competitions, already going to fat from his reliance on his powers.

He's set to suffer. Pathetic yet arrogant, rebellious yet incompetent. Machismo, yet so little actual capability save his powers-- and he isn't even the purest example of that. Just thinking about how inadequate and grousing he is enough to make her clit throb. A tiny, feeble little prick of a man.

Lita has to carefully force herself not to start rutting her hips or licking her lips at the idea. A perfect plaything-- one who not only  _ deserves _ being damaged, but who will provide lovely opportunities to do so, again and again and  _ again _ .

A born feeder.

_ But what _ really,  _ deeply makes me want to go to all these lengths just for a date with  _ you _ , Max, you fucking little creep, is that you made my life a living hell whenever you could. And I'm going to take every second of shame at your "jokes," every breath I had to waste repeating, again, that I made my own damn equipment, every time you suggested I do the clean-up since I'd be  _ used _ to it…  _

_ And I'm going to make it into a  _ year _ of suffering. You're going to owe me so much your myriad descendents will be paying it off long after they'd kill someone who tried to take them away from me. Of course, I was going to do that anyway. _

Lita carefully keeps a smirk from her face, and wills the slow little son of a bitch to show. It's getting harder and harder not to flex her pecs out, not to make her heavy breasts heavier. Fusion Fighter used to  _ love _ talking about how her drive suit was a "bad example" for "little girls," so "vulgar."

It didn't show an inch of skin below her  _ chin. _ And she wore a  _ helmet _ , too, her interface and final protection. But she knew what he meant, and so did every superheroine, young or old.

Boobs. If his sneering attempts at subtlety hadn't been ham-handed enough, the fact that he leered when he thought nobody was looking-- well, nobody he respected, he didn't give a  _ shit _ whether or not Lita knew-- would have given it away.  _ It's okay, _ she reassures her girls.  _ He's going to spend a long, long time apologizing to you two  _ and  _ me, mis tetas preciosas. _

In fact, her vibrational senses whisper of a panel shifting. Of rock and dirt, otherwise invulnerable starting to fall--  _ Hah! _

"All.. Gah! Almost there!" Huffing and puffing, Max's half-growl, half-whine is hatefully familiar and gorgeously belligerent.

The epiphany nearly gets her cumming right then and there. The superior, so-cunning, such-a-strategist Fusion Fighter…

Hoping to ambush the hypothetically-wounded Hunter by digging in the dirt with a spade.  _ Like that hasn't been tried a million times but, hey, at least you're finally getting familiar with those gardening tools you tried to convince Mark to get me for a secret santa gift. Not even creative bigotry, too! _

Scratching at it. Lita might almost be embarrassed for him if it didn't make him look so pathetic. So desperate.

_ If I had less cast-iron ovaries, I might  _ have _ to lick my lips. Or jill a few off! He's so desperately sure this  _ has _ to work he's practically jizzing! _

Wild. Taking absurd chances. Refusing to even consider reality.

Fusion Fighter is  _ weak _ , in a shallow imitation of the panicked weakness that only those who think themselves strong reach.

Max is taking his damn time, too. He must have expended so much power-- _ ah, he's got a couple of k-Pyre bombs, the capsule size ones.  _

As Vetter pokes around with his arm, flailing to make sure he has enough room, Lita snorts. And again when he digs around in his belt for the capsules, looks shiftily to either side-- of all pointless things-- and gulps them down.

The explosions are contained by his belly, but perfectly audible for countless kilometers to Hunters-- to most Stealers, even!  _ Good Gaia-Geb below, he looked ridiculous swallowing them, but he looks even more ridiculous with his stomach bulging out and in like that. _

_ And while I can appreciate male muscle done  _ well _ so far as it goes, that transformation is  _ not  _ flattering. _

Bombs designed to level hardened, heavily reinforced compounds-- each-- explode inside of Max Vetter. His metahuman power absorbs it-- mostly-- and redirects the energies into his frame. His body bulges almost like a Stealer's-- distastefully so-- with asymmetric expansion.

It levels out in the end, shoulders equally broad (for a man), pecs equally buff (for a man), thighs equally ripped (for a man). For a man, the final product of Fusion Fighter's biochemical fusion reactor physiology, is entirely acceptable. To a Hunter…

He's still a slender little thing, if not as bony as Mikey. A little more fun, too. Extra padding for the playtime, and the playing will actually make him tougher.

For a man.

_ I'll find him more powerful ones to use as suppositories. Oh, Max, the fun we'll have. Or at least, the fun I'll have...  _

Not that Lita doesn't intend to make him crave the pain anyway, too. That almost goes without saying.

But in terms of  _ sculpting _ , he's unexceptional for a metahuman, barely acceptable. Whereas poor, seemingly cursed Damage at least kept up an intense exercise regime, if not quite to Al Pratt's levels, Fusion Fighter seems content to continue after the Pulse as he did before-- periodic, not even daily sparring practice, weightlifting designed to show off, generally by cheating and absorbing the damage done by poor form, and everything else, relying on his powers.

Lita and Joan have already picked up a training regime for him. And Karen will be quite happy to look in on the process for Lita, even before she's allowed to rape the mewling little bitch.  _ It's so nice to have enthusiastic help _ .

_ As for this culo… _

Oh, Max is-- for a man-- decently tall, a good six foot three. And at one point, the slender things he called shoulders were probably impressive-- to his fellow men, with decently taut pectorals. Never managed to fully bring out his six pack, though. Just too fond of sitting, and too fond of drinking.

Not that Lita intends to let him slack from his punishment and her pleasure long enough to distinguish withdrawal pangs from everything else she's going to do to him, but that's nixed from his diet.

Dark brown hair, parted to the right, painfully straight for what would more naturally be wavy. Not so much a square jaw as a blunt one with rounded edges, which with his hair frames what he probably thinks is a stern expression of noble resolve, but really just looks like he has to go to the bathroom. His brown eyes are decently pretty, for all the ugly lust and smug self-satisfaction that light them.

He's still kept his costume, green and white with a pair of boxing gloves superimposed over an abstract mockup of the Newtonian atom, and, she's pleased to sense, has kept it quite clean. It's a lot tighter over his shoulders than when she first met him, when she was just a little girl and he was already an ass, but the last few weeks have left it looser than its been since, and he's cinched the belt a bit to make up for it.

The emblem, his chest, and the darker green of the boots are all covered in dirt and mud he didn't quite clear; how it skipped his long, slenderly muscled legs, seems to mainly be in just how much he thrashed on the way out the window he made himself. He looks around furtively, large nostrils flaring, and then starts to jet, zipping faster than your average sportscar. He has good form--

_ Probably because he's used to being very showy about how he runs-- _

But despite how well it makes his glutes and hamstrings squeeze up and extend, showing off her property-to-be, it outrages Lita.  _ He's using up energy that should be saved for pleasing  _ me! _ Someone's asking to be don nadie dos… _

_ He won't be so lucky. _

"Ahhh!" Lita gasps, sucking in her jiggly belly and swooning dramatically. Somehow, she works it well enough to seem realistic-- and gorgeous-- rather than silly.

Tired of waggling about for the moment, the immensely curved giantess pretends to trip, flicking her toes just so into the asphalt. The resultant  _ BOOM _ pops Max right off his feet and stumbling forward, but gives Lita a rationale to get at the right height. She has plans for him.

Since it's her right leg that goes flying up, Lita swings around completely, like a very clumsy roundhouse. "Dammit, Joan!" she whimpers. "How c-- how… Ahnnn!"

Her squishy-bouncy breasts, untightened, wobble and smack around, fat nipples waving wildly about. She brings her leg down like a sumotori entering the ring, taking a wide stance that just  _ happens _ to show off how curvy her legs are without flexing either enough to show the muscles beneath. Her bandanna-clad hair flips around, following her head, twisting to the left as her eyes close and her jaw drops.

The sheen of sweat that travels over her thicc-to-the-limits frame makes her glisten as she moves, rutting her (barely) jeans-clad hips forward and down, glutes tightening up and flexing out beneath  _ their _ transfixing, fleshy globes. But that's not the main point of the display. It is, however, rather fun.

Thinking about what the betrayal could have been is nourishing. To an extent. Like jilling off, simulated suffering just won't do, or Hunters really could control the ever-present urge to fuck with each other and with the tiny, insignificant pain-whores that make up the human race. The hero she used to be would have loved that. Would have focused her mind into a grimtastic self-examination.

Lita has been thinking about actually learning to moderate her behavior, in hopes that the stuck-up Lupe Lòpez might be willing to do more than just spar. But for now… there's the dance.

Lita snakes her head around as she moves, keeping her mouth open in a very orgasmic O. "Ahhhhh!" she screams, and means it; but not for the despair and injury that Fusion Fighter expects. Her power is already stretching out-- and not just to ensnare him.

Wobbling herself and her lush padding about with unnecessarily hypnotic jiggles, she slaps her left forearm down into the cushiness of her thigh, crouching further along. The spread pose flaunts her spectacular ass out behind her, and for kilometers around-- further, for those Hunters with a better sensorium or paying closer attention-- even her sister Hunters make various noises of pleasure, chewing lower lips and curling toes, slits soaking and faces blushing.

In imitation of her, but not truly akin to her, not even the stockier, weightlifter's pornographic apotheosis model that is something  _ of _ a kin to her. None of them have her power, her force, her strength-- her beauty. All of them feel it; even her fellow Outliers can at least appreciate the show.

Not always to the advantage of the humans or even fellow Hunters in their arms, but still. Lita drops her mouth open in a long moan of "pain," but flexes her ass a bit at her watchers.  _ Enjoy the sight, bitches… but remember, it can be you nearly as much as este culo, aquí. _

At least she doesn't have to force her cheeks not to flush. The apparent haze of pleasure is easy to make it look like she's being rocked by an M-Drive orgasm from Gaia-Geb herself. Her cheeks-- and forehead, and neck, and even the base of her breasts-- are so bright red under the dark tan that she's almost glowing.

In fact, it's hot enough that nearby water in the air is evaporating, adding a bit of an extra steamy sheen to Lita's already glistening skin. Her jeans were already soaked, but her plump pussy is Hungrily flooding now. Heady, musky femmejuices coat her absurdly powerful inner thighs, tense and vibrating, ready to be used on this persistent gnat who names himself Fusion Fighter.

  
Lita arches her back, and the jiggling travels on further. The thewy power of her traps and her erector spinae pump together. If Vetter was in back, he might see for once just how utterly ridiculous calling an  _ Outlier  _ weak, let alone soft, really is.

Her silky black hair doesn't travel much past her shoulderblades, but it's no veil anyway. The immense muscles force her hair to follow their taut, unyielding forms. Even that is a part of the display of perfect and perfected power.

Her traps alone are immense ridges, big bulges that scoop alongside her spine up and over her back, past her shoulderblades, and up onto her neck, smoothly but ruggedly swooping into the muscles there. That's the only hint from the front-- unless like a Hunter, you can see through, and around.

Fusion Fighter can't. Blind as a man, as the Hunter saying goes. He can't see the enormous mass of bulging  _ hardness _ , the intricate lines of crisp definition interwoven together and with her tertiary back muscles, producing a spellbinding fractal network of their own, linking to the rest of the muscles in detailed anatomical perfection.

Strength, the strength that is everywhere on Lita but hidden from the surface by her enthralling plush, is always on display on her back.

Perhaps Max has always been too distracted by both her ass and being an ass. Hers is bigger, but of course, everything about her is bigger than the pathetic little "hero," isn't it? But now his only view is the front, and when her back muscles swell and her hips thrust, her enormous melon-mountains are slammed and shaken around in soft, nigh-infinite vibrations.

Hypnotic fractals all their own. And her prey is caught. No, this isn't an m-gasm.

This is pure, malicious, sadistic  _ bliss _ . This is Lita raping this little shit's mind before she even touches him. Before he even hears a word.

It's probably the best orgasm Max Vetter's ever given a woman, not that he was ever brave enough to do much more than aggressive vanilla. "Ooooh," she cries, cunny clenching again and again.

Seeing his face, it's incredibly easy to imagine his head being served up to that squeeze.

She'd laugh, if she felt like ruining the scene.

"Wha-- I--- uh!" Once Vetter comes out of his tumble, still burning energy far more than is judicious if he wants to keep his ass from turning a brighter red than the blast from Joan's chest-cannons, he almost slows to a stop or falls over.

Lita's faux-sobbing and mumbled cries of, "Joan!" are probably unheard. Between them and her deep, heavy breathing, Fusion Fighter has already lost the fight. He's just too stupid to know it yet.

His brown eyes go vague and his face flushes, sweat collecting at his temples and in his costume. His lovely little twenty-centimeter cock, thankfully juicy enough to be of  _ use _ , goes all stiff and slams against the insides of his bodysuit's cup. Even as his limbs careen wildly, it amuses Lita to sense his fingers, cupping and squeezing in broad patterns-- all reaching for what will complete his doom.

Lita's big, brown boobs. Her teeth run over her lower lip and she gasps, sending the enormous, perfectly curved juggs jiggling even faster. Forget Candy Mandy,  _ these _ are the ultimate sugarplum,  _ Big _ Drop Candy Mountains.

Curvy and heavy and round, with a warm, light chocolate tan, fighting gravity so well that the essential force has all but given up to cry, but her breasts don't let it tap out.

After all, there has to be just enough hang to make every last little motion full of succulent, drool-inducing, jaw-dropping, mind-blanking  _ jiggle _ .

There's just so much of them. So much of them and it's all perfectly shaped, as though some great meta-divinity reached out with a supernal four-dee modelling program, designed the perfect tits, and then hit the scale-up sliders. On the perfection as well as the size.

It's so easy for men-- and women, and futa, and even those without any sex at at all-- to become lost in her deep, dark,  _ tight _ cleavage. Not just the way Mikey did, either.

Where the waves of oceanic titty-jiggling clash together, where her lushness comes together, the power of her breasts, in motion or at rest, does not cancel out. Instead, they combine, pressing like her lips kissing and promising endless pleasure. To be wrapped in her cleavage, whether visually, personally, or if you're very lucky, just part of you, is like being held in a perpetual dominatrix's blowjob, pleasure raping you and your mind into soft compliance.

Or it can be like her lips closing around your life forever. Swallowing you up every bit as surely as her Hunger forcing her power onto a new slave, or her plush-over-power legs coming together in a truly final bodyscissors. Sometimes it's all of the above.

So even when Moto-Lita's gorgeous breasts are relatively calm-- just breathing tends to leave them with at least  _ some _ perpetual jiggle-- those who look at her are often ensnared within moments. Whether in person or over video like poor, pea-brained Max. Those who are honored to be touched by them, or to be permitted to worship them with their tongues...

Well, they're as helpless and hapless to her hypno-tittic powers as an observer right now.

Because when they're shaken around like in Lita's little rolling stomp now? Each wave sends off seemingly endless cascades of bobbling flesh bouncing around. The edges, curvy with utterly perfect symmetry, catch the eye with the way the rounded arcs of vast plush move, drawing the mind and compelling the body.

Her fist sized nipples, already nearly as hard as stone, are dark and crinkled and juicy. For all their intimidating size, there's a mesmerizing quality to the long towers of super-sensitive flesh. Even when she's not playing with them like this, they make her strongest-minded, most savage vassals go a little slack in the jaw.

Holding them over a slave's face, well-- look at Max. He's certainly got his eyes glued to her nips. Fair enough, that's his lot in life to come.

But like a well-trained entertainment bitchboi waiting for one of her bigger-cocked Kennel Boys, the former would-be leader of Justice League NorCal--

_ Hoo, girl, that was such a shitpile waiting to happen. Glad it didn't-- _

Has his jaw hanging open and his tongue lolling out. Wet and red and drooling, with his throat making these  _ adorable _ little swallows. Lips plumping and-- yep.

_ Little tit-thirsty bitch looks like he's auditioning to suck Mark off in my five o'clock dinner revue. Not wide enough for my nipples by half. _ Not that any man even  _ she _ owns has a cock that's as thick as her nipple.

They stretch anyway, if she's kind to them. And she wants Max to last! So that's a kindness.

Lita, like any other Hunter, doesn't really have mercy, and her kindnesses can be so exquisitely painful.

Her core is wide open. Her crouching has her abdomen down to just below shoulder level on the tiny male; that soft, squishy stomach inviting. Vulnerable-seeming.

The arch of her back has her mega-mammaries thrust up and forward, leaving the path clear. Besides, she's a  _ defective _ Hunter, right, Max? Fat. Soft. No way her tits can break men and gods alike the way even the meanest, shortest  _ muscle- _ Hunter can.

_ Can he really be so stupid to believe that? I haven't let the local humans really understand how much stronger I am than the usual territorial Boss Bitch. But surely… _

Max's eyes lose a little of their gloss, and while his mouth can't quite close, nor the drool quite cease, he does bring his jaw up, nearly managing quite the "dramatic" snarl. Fists barely bigger than two of her knuckles curl up, and he takes a pose that owes more to the  _ idea _ of applying power, and less to the science of pain and devastation.

It does make his cute little pecs bulge their best, thin, pale imitation of her tan-covered powerhouses; if hers outmass monster truck tires, his would barely beat basketballs.

Eyes wild, the power stored in his cells suddenly lensing together along the biochemical networks, Max Vetter, Fusion Fighter, starts to glow, at last using his stored energy for its intended purpose.

Pleasing Lita Delgado. Still, abruptly, Lita's given cause to wonder if he's been hit by a Stealer. He's always been dumb, but  _ shouting _ ? Before you charge at a Hunter you're  _ ambushing _ ?

"I've…  _ got you _ at  _ last, _ you fucking whore-bitch!"

_ Yes, that's creative, little shit-sucker. Ay. You're going to pay for boring me. _

But at last, he's off. A loud  _ thruuuuummmmmm _ erupts, and a long lance of energy jets out behind his upraised elbow and the attached shoulder. Not even smart enough to add the extra force full-body, too.

The rubble nearby is blown back by the force of Fusion Fighter's erupting energy. Some of it's even vaporized as he's lifted off his feet. She's not impressed; Joan did far more damage. How he expects to "finish the job…"

_ Arrogance, sexism, and a complete blindness to the fact that weightlifters are usually stronger than bodybuilders, I guess. _

Of course, Candy Mandy and Ocean Princess are Bodybuilder-model Hunters, but you can't have everything.

Lita is so bored with how long Max is taking that she brings her right index finger up to her half-open lips, inclining her head to the right and raising her brows. Her quizzical expression makes his hopes rise and his trapped prick harden all the more.

When her lids start to close, her eyes roll back, and her blush deepen, it makes his path wobble a bit, and wobbling looks so much worse on him. She  _ wanted _ to go through with creaming at him mid-flight, but he'll have to just wait to earn her climaxes like a good little slave.

While he charges through to her, barreling closer and closer to mach one, Lita takes a few moments to game out a few possible responses if one-- or worse, both-- of the Candy Girls decides to try and take her out or force her into vassalage. What she can sacrifice, what she won't, how to use the Deadzone, whether or not to go to Iron Discipline for help…

_ No fucking way I'll go to the Princesses, though, and those bitches know it. _ _ Well, that's a few million different combinations gone through… What else do I need to consider? _

She has so much time left before he makes it. Her senses bring in vast sweeps of data, of which one metahuman man, big for his ilk or not, moving at trans-sonic speeds is such a tiny part. His future will take up her focus.

His actions… not so much.

Fusion Fighter's fist is covered in his trademark green orbitals, lensing around like the classic atomic representation. The air screams, and fires bloom. Even his custom-built costume is starting to char at the edges.

_ I made that for him back when I thought he was worth impressing, but of course, even before the Pulse, he never did the damn maintenance! _

Faster and faster, with more and more force, more and more  _ power _ , Fusion Fighter burns his biochemical fusion energies at both ends. He literally begins to shrink muscle sizes mid-air, but all the incredible (for a man) might is in his flight, in the missile he has made of himself.

_ I didn't leave any of the simulations running, did I? None of them key out to the real things, but Tony is getting more clever. I'm so proud of him, he's going to make such a good little sidekick for the rest of his life. I promise, Papa. I promise, Mama. I'll take good care of him. No matter what I have to do to-- or maybe for-- Candy Mandy. _

Moto-Lita has considered centuries worth of planning, with or without independence, with or without the Candy Girls-- any number of options. She's performed scientific observations, and experiments based on the actions of others. She's written entire novel series that might never see the light of day-- unless she can find a woman with unspoofed Pride rightness to share about it.

Series of serieses, even.

It's been less than a second since Fusion Fighter took off, three kilometers distant. He's mere centimeters from impact, moving at mach ten.  _ So… freaking… bored! _

_ Max, would you stop taking so damn long?! _


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fool that he is, Max Vetter has finally Fusion Fisted (cough) Moto-Lita. Expecting the "defective" Hunter Queen of the Bay Area to be severely wounded for him to finish off, he instead discovers that she is fully operational. And that the Death Star-- that an armada of Sun Crushers!-- would be less powerful than two subsections of her abdominis rectus.
> 
> Very specifically, actually. When his rocket-fast charge barely manages to sink his fist in deep to her dense tummy plush, she flexes her abs carefully. Not only does that wedge his knuckles between two abdominals, but it hardens up the plush around them! Fusion Fighter, asshole extraordinaire is trapped.
> 
> By one of the ultimate sadists. Slowly squeezing and breaking his hand, re-breaking it when his bio-fusion reactor heals it, she alternately tortures him and taunts him with deliberately bad-Spanglishized cooing, fucking with his mind as she uses his body to get off.
> 
> To get her off, and to literally drive him into an insanely obsessed masochism. One ultimately obsessed with her.
> 
> With being her slave, to be precise.
> 
> Lita does so love a leisurely destruction of a man's arrogance to get her workday started.

Monday, 11:55 am

Five Weeks After the Pulse

Fremont, CA

**_THHHRRRMMMMMMMMBOOOM!_ **

Moving more than ten times the speed of sound, with a musculoskeletal structure still capable of adding not inconsiderable tonnage of force-output, and the very damage he inflicts upon himself at this speed adding to his biochemical reactor, Max Vetter-- once the bigoted and vainglorious hero known as Fusion Fighter-- crashes fist first into Moto-Lita's soft, fat, jiggly belly.

Her soft, fat, jiggly,  _ vulnerable _ belly.

No-- her soft-over-strength, fat-over-multipack-abs, jiggly and juggernaut,  _ deliberately _ exposed belly.

There's no vulnerability there at all, as any number of other Hunters and other metahumans have learned to their peril, but once Max gets something in his head, as Lita well knows, it's hard to shake it.

_ Fortunately for me, I'm  _ good _ at shaking brainpans. _

Most of the explosive energy blast is channeled away and back by Lita's impervious skin. Especially her low-hanging mega-sized breasts, lightly wobbled by the sudden burst made by a high-velocity impact into an almost utterly unyielding, immovable object. She carefully flexes her big, brawny pecs and thighs, altering the surfaces off which superheated air and dust collide, smashing most of it back onto Fusion Fighter.

_ Wouldn't want his tank to go dry before I've wrung out every last drop! _

But she is  _ almost _ an unyielding surface, indeed. The lovely plush of her belly is thick enough to envelop his entire fist as it pushes in. Still, it's so much more dense than he-- and so much more densely sturdy than the applied force-- that he loses a lot of his otherwise tickling little slam just going through.

Why, her stone-hard abs barely bust-open his knuckles. He bleeds from the shallow wound, "heroic" growl suddenly turned to a wail, but the real scream comes barely a second after that, shoving away the first and leaving Max howling so hot and sweet he nearly goes hoarse within a single second more.

Getting her wet as anything, her lovely brown petals flexing and fluttering.

Because that's when she  _ flexes _ , hard. With the insane power of her hope-killing musculature, and the deft sub-flexing enabled by her microcontrol and the extensive web of tertiary abdominals, she's able to just squeeze over his hand, claiming it without adding more than just a tiny hint of her shredded abs elsewhere.

As far as the dumb little bitch can tell, he punched her belly, there was an explosion-- and then pain! And now his hand is trapped. She can see the (dim) lights going on in his eyes. "What the fuck, you bitch? That should have leveled a  _ re-- _ ah… that should have…"

Lita is no longer wearing a mask of confused, pained betrayal. Instead, she has a bright, perky smile on her face, beaming from ear to ear, dark eyes glittering. She nods at him to go on.

Fusion Fighter just stutters for a moment. Playing softy or not, it's impossible for anyone, even those fools of her own kind who think her soft and weak, to even so much as  _ contemplate _ the idea that she might be anything else than a true, majestic Hunter. Eventually, he just mutters, "That should have levelled you!"

Arrogant as he is, even  _ Max _ knows how lame his presumptions are now.

_ Now the fun begins. _

As Vetter starts to yank hard, he stumbles around comically. He can't so much as budge the folds of fat concealing the flexion of her potent Outlier abs. She giggles a bit, shaking her bare titties and their voluminous, voluptuous expanse of lush fat at him.

He huffs and puffs and grits his teeth, neck and head all but vibrating as he pulls his hardest. "Fucking… fat… beaner!" he gasps, and the nasty little slur is added to his ledger, but otherwise-- like the man himself-- does not impress.

In fact, Max loses his footing three times, feet shifting around in the rubble aftermath of his most powerful direct assault; if it wasn't for his ability to absorb kinetic energy anywhere, he'd have broken his wrist multiple times.

The poor little slut just can't seem to stop pinwheeling his legs around, tripping over his own feet, the dirt, some debris-- everything! His heels drag through the dirt, his other shoulder shifts about wildly. Adorable, really.

She just puts her finger up to her lips again, and blows him a little kiss. Her tongue pushes the finger to one side of her mouth. She trails it down to her chin, then purrs, "Mm! ¿Tienes algo mejor, big man? Any in there at all?"

Watching Fusion Fighter completely lose his shit gives her tummy and her clit extra little tingles all their own. Seeing his eyes all but go in opposite directions in his mental fit over her deliberately pidgin, broken English with a played-up accent?  _ Ooh, Max, you ain't much good on your own, but you make a lovely fucking dildo, you do. _

His eyes bulge out and his jaws shift back and forth, but she wraps her lips around her finger like a far bigger cock and purses them, moaning slightly and wriggling him about like a landed fish, just by squirming her squishy-strong tummy.

Lips curling to the sides, Max starts to rock his torso back and forth, trying desperately to pull himself away. "What the fuck is wrong with you, tubby bitch! Let me fucking go, or I'll kill you!"

His resulting scream is completely drowned out by the belly-deep guffaws that caused it. Unlike his own feeble attempts, when Lita laughs, she  _ does _ break his fingers. She's careful not to impede his regeneration, instead swaying her huge, lusciously padded hips about and shaking her ass while still holding  _ just _ those two abdominal muscles clenched to hold him.

But the way she squirms her shoulders and breasts around has consequences. The ripples of her huge laughs and huge breasts moving to the beat of her brawny shoulders re-shatters Max's fingers again, just when he has them healed.

At that, she manages to force herself to stop laughing, sniffing a bit and chortling only. It still swings him around wildly, but at least she's not breaking any more of his hand.  _ Gives my new little fucktoy some time to heal up. _

_ You're gonna need it, culo. _

His eyes go wide and he flails harder, continuing that pumping back-and-forth. With his hand trapped, he can't get the angle quite right, and he ends up looking like he was blessed with a pussy and he was trying to thrust down onto it but kept missing the job.

Popping her finger out from between her honeyed lips with a wet smack, Lita coos, "That's it, ooh!"

Then she grunts and pops her fingertip back in her lips, swirling her tongue over it, as his muscles do an  _ adorable _ job of pretending to flex and strain, like he was a Hunter who'd experienced a tragic unnecessary mega-masectomy… and lost at least ten or twenty centimeters of height… and so much muscle mass…

_ Well, his ass is adorable when it tightens up like that. Like it was born for a spanking, or a dildo. And his chest! Oh my gosh, it's like watching a piece of paper try to flex-- and almost succeeding! _

"The fuck.. the fuck do you mean, stupid wetback whore?!" Max grunts and bears down.  _ Like being a shit and trying to take one is going to help you? _

Finally, all but giving up, Max does his best weak little roar in her direction, and fires half of his stored energy directly into her stomach through his hand.

Inclining her head towards him again, Lita bobs her head over her finger as he zots away. She makes sure to pant and moan, letting him hear how his suffering is making her juice; he can certainly smell the musk, it's all around him. But she also makes sure he sees how much bigger her finger is than his dick could ever be--

_ Until I start working on him, anyway. And after, I'll get him to the lab to do some enhancements. And not the ones I hand out to good little vassals. I'm going to use the Peenhancer version one. With the, ah, side effects-- _

By pushing her lips out along the length while angling her hand up, letting its shadow fall across Fusion Fighter's stunned face.

Then she turns her right hand so the back of her wrist is pointed at him and swirls her tongue over the tip with a pleasured groan. "That a nice little start, pequeñito. You got some real boom for mami now?"

The scream from that one is almost enough boom. She lets out a happy, lip-smacking sigh as his eyes bug out and he screams, " _ WHAT?! _ " at the top of his lungs.

It's funny. Vetter stared at her ass for  _ years _ . Day in and day out. And her tits, too, at every opportunity. She even had to "accidentally" tread on his instep once to keep his hands away.

_ And now, the suggestion that I might deign to pleasure myself with you is just so terrible, huh, gilipollas? _

What's almost more funny is that every time he flares his nostrils like a snorting bull-- _ If only he had bull-type equipment elsewhere, really-- _ he gets a damn fine whiff of her sexjuices. Every time her musk burns his lungs and whips his brain, his words trail off, become softer a bit. Even a trace of drool. Lita chortles down at him as one of his eyes starts to vibrate faster than the other.  _ At least he looks funny, 'cos he's really, really boring otherwise so far. _

_ Ah well. Anticipation! _

He just rants on, and on, too. "I have you bitch! I'll kill you! I'll rape you, tear your ti--"

Slurping her tongue over the finger some more and groaning forces Max to stop mid-rant. She bobs her head over the finger for a moment, squeezes her belly tight enough around his fist to make him sob, then looks skeptically down at him. "You not gonna be givin'  _ anybody _ little deaths unless you a grower more than a shower, big man. You got some grow for me?"

"You…  _ bitch! _ " he screams, sobbing. Big, bubbly tears run down his cheeks. To her fascinated arousal, he just  _ does not _ seem to get how bad things are. He's still whaling away back and forth-- even putting his other hand on his wrist and trying desperately to yank himself from her abdominally plush prison.

Moto-Lita throws back her head and cackles. Then she grins and flicks her saliva off her finger at her belly-captive, and laughs as he screams and splutters wildly again. Still yanking his puny male best. "Aw, hombrecito, you stuck?"

She pops her fingertip out of her mouth, and runs it down over his arm. He immediately starts swinging at her wrist with his other hand, blasting away with all the stored-up biochemical energy having his hand compacted repeatedly can give him. But he's lost so much already that it hardly tickles.

Instead, to his disgust and fury, Lita strokes her fingertip roughly over his costume, jabbing him hard at the pecs, delts, and bicep, with even a bit of prodding at his traps. "I thought you were such a big man, right?" she asks, slowly blinking her long, expressive lashes at him.

Predictably enough, he stops yelling ow and drops his jaw at her.  _ Really, he's askin' to have one of my girls shove a nip down his mouth. Then he'll only have himself to blame. _

"¿No?" she asks, hamming it up with another tilt of her head and fluttering of her eyelashes. The whole affair is feeding Lita so  _ good _ she does finally let off a deep, rolling gasp of orgasmic release. "Ahhhnnn!"

Which leaves him screaming in agony yet again. But he somehow manages to find yet-more self-delusion to come at her again. Which just means more of the eye-bugging out, and Fusion Fighter roars, "I'll destroy you! I've got you-- I've fucking got you on the ropes!"

She giggles, and puffs air kisses down at him. "Aww. ¡Muy lindo! You just keep thinkin' that."

Max inhales deeply, sucking down more of her heady, pheromone-laden sex-sweetness. It makes his pupils go a bit indistinct, so before he can come up with another boring rant, she purrs, "Didn't you promise Joan you'd be able to take me out with, ah, 'no pain,' was it?"

_ That _ stops him dead in his tracks. Or, well, dead in her stomach's embrace, which is about the same thing. She puckers her lips at him and makes kissie noises again. 

As fear shakes him, rattling him around, she laughs, not bothering to suppress a few good  _ squeezes _ and  _ crunches _ of her abs down onto him. "Why you cryin' so much, big man?" Her coo has an extra spin of condescension, especially on the word 'big'.

Vetter can't manage anything more coherent than, "Auuughhh!" He's pitched over and hanging loosely from her arm, dipped as far as her tummy-grip permits.

So Lita inhales lightly, rolling the abs beneath her "soft" stomach. It yanks him right back up, like flapping a towel out. Stumbling around, he catches himself before he can fall completely, planting his heels back and staring up at her with an even- _ more _ crazed and maniac look.

_ ¡Muy, muy caliente! _

Giggling, she tilts her hand back and around so her knuckles point at him and the heel of her palm towards the sky, then brings her broad, dense right arm right up to her lips to kiss the bicep. Making sure to flex as little as possible so he doesn't see the Olympus-Mons Ms. Olympia-Ultra peak again.

Then she winks, and nods at him. "You need some big strong woman to take care of that for you?" she coos. "I take care of  _ everything _ wrong with you real good."

Vetter's sexism isn't even unique. She's nearly  _ three-quarters _ taller than he is, and two of him shoulder to shoulder wouldn't make it from one delt of hers to the other-- not even counting her extra padding. But having her suggest first that he needs someone bigger and stronger to take care of him, and secondly, that bigger and stronger should equal female…

_ Evidence is kinda on my side there, hombrecito. _

Well, that's just a cause for a total second-- third... well… Lita's eidetic memory notes that it's his sixth wind.  _ The man is good at blowing hard, it's true. I'll give him cause to  _ expand _ his blowing horizons. _

Anyway, being told that he and his gender are tiny and weak? It sets him off screaming, mostly depressing variations on, "You fucking beaner bitch!" But at least the fight's back in him for real.

Again and again, Fusion Fighter slams his free fist into her stomach, into her planet-sized hurricane-force thunder thighs, even going for cuntshots. It does him no good at all-- though at least the latter is a pleasant little stroke for her left labia.

She makes an exaggerated, pitying smile, pushing out her lower lip a bit and nodding. "You got some problems there still? Well, when you need a real woman to take care of you… you just say the word, big man."

Another squeeze. Another scream. Lita tilts her head to the left, then to the right. Then-- still holding her abs flexed tight around his pathetic little fist, she stands, dragging him off his feet and over to her side.

She can't even stand to her full height. To let him rest on his heels, in the dark shadow of her bare, glistening super-sized, super-shapely tits, she has to remain crouched. Just a little.

But Lita quirks her left eyebrow before he goes past the horizon of her melons, then slaps her meaty thigh, right above her knee. She can see him right through her tits, and by the look of humiliation on his red, tensing face… he knows how small he is.

At least, how small his  _ height _ . She has so many more ways ahead to teach him how small his everything is.

All but hanging from her stomach, Fusion Fighter's face turns purple. Furiously, he tries to shove off and away from her with both hands now-- but not both on her belly, no.

Somehow he thinks it's better that he dares to put his hand on her pussy. He smacks the heel of his palm right into the groin of her jeans, ignoring the bite of the zipper, and digs his heels into the ground with what little leverage he has. His head keeps jerking backwards, swinging his thin little neck and delts around.

To absolutely no avail.

Ignoring his outraged huffs and snorts, Lita runs her long, dexterous fingers through his light brown hair. "Aww, poor thing. Try harder! You can do it, right?"

Swearing, Max grunts and hammers his fist in again and again. Sobs and wheezes of exertion nearly match that of pain and--  _ Ah, there it is. _

"Fuck… fuck you! Fuck-- fucking… fuck!" His vocabulary descends with what can charitably be called his mind, and everywhere, his joints tense, locking at odd angles. Even his free hand is having problems making a fist.

The wild look in his eyes is matched by tensing around the jawline, little tremors all up and down the neck, and his temples start to throb. The stress, pain, and humiliation-- and his arousal-- are combining to turn against him.

Especially the last two. Like most men of his age and cultural background, admitting he likes a woman with curves-- let alone muscle, but he's ignoring those-- is akin to admitting he likes boys, unless it involves titfat. Even the most gorgeous and deliciously juicy asses are "too tubby."

_ Well, let's see, little man. You and I both know muscles have always been feminine, only now, we're crowding out masculine muscles to boot. You and I both know you and the rest of your pathetic bros always lusted after some nice thighs and The Butts. _

"Oooh, that feels kinda nice," she coos at him and strokes his hair again, cupping his cheek-- while still holding his fist completely trapped. "Maybe you do it next time, eh? Maybe I can help!"

_ Don't matter if they're slaves or Hunters, little man. None of us are going to tolerate your bullshit anymore. You gonna have such a time learning to worship Joan's ass, I promise. _

Out loud, Lita laughs and leans over again, pushing him back… and back… The shadows of her shoulders, of her massive upper body outline fall across him-- and the warm, dense heat of her absolutely enormous breasts wobbles just above his head.

"Yeah," she breathes. "I can help you  _ real _ good, big man."

She doesn't bother to hide the smirk as Fusion Fighter's eyes go wide and his jaw drops open to a nipple-inviting gap once more. His stare travels all over the soft, light-chocolate roundness, dense masses in perfectly shapely round drops. "You-- I… You…"

All he can do is babble. Their smooth roundness jiggles and bobbles about, and his head shakes trying to follow them.

Inevitably, his gaze is reeled towards the only break in the smooth super-teardrop shapes: the crinkly breadth of her enormous areolae. Bigger than dinner plates at  _ her _ size, textured with her arousal, they form a great, dark marker for the spectacular breadth, height, and just sheer heft of her nipples. Much bigger than his gaping mouth-hole; he's fortunate for the strange powers of fit that those nips hold.

So long as Lita deigns to grant it.

In either event, Fusion Fighter whines and shrinks back comically, his shoulders clenching together but his ass squeezing and groin thrusting forward. "I can stil… stop you… Still…!"

His long, pink shaft, slightly curved in its hardness, throbs for her breasts, but his wide eyes show the fear the little six-foot-three man has of breasts slightly bigger than his whole body. Fear and pleasure work together in him; precum already oozing from the tip and soaking the cup-guarded crotch of his costume.

"Sure you can, sure you can," Lita coos again, pouting her full lips at him and fluttering her eyelashes. "But that don't mean I can't help you-- ooh, maybe you try punchin' me a bit higher?"

"Wha?" Honestly, Vetter's head-tilt and slack-jawed bemusement almost gets her to let him go right then and there.

So she can stuff him between her thighs and play "Let's see how long you can survive the hurricane," with him, her curvy plush, and the apocalyptic compaction of the muscles beneath, but, hey. He almost gets to escape her abs!

_ Well, not quite.  _ I _ have self-control. _

Lita nods again and licks her lips, squirming her broadly curved hips and broadly built shoulders about slowly, bouncing more endless tsunamis of titflesh. "Yeah. Heard you talkin' about mis tetas, even before the Pulse!" she chirps at him.

Since  _ she _ doesn't need the use of her hands, just a teeny tiny bit of world-crushing tension to hold him, she groans, moving both palms up to rub into the dark brown of her areolae, fingers just delicately toying at the nipples.

Fusion Fighter earns his ass more pain and trauma by boring her. "Wha?" he says again, blinking owlishly. His hormone levels tell the tale; he's starting to sink into the anodyne state of subspace.

_ Can't have that! _ she thinks with a little belly-shaking chuckle. This time, though, she doesn't break his knuckles; she just squeeze-squeeze-clench-squeeze- _ CLENCH _ chortles to slap him right out of the numbing trance. And to slap some additional power into his biochemical fusion reactor.

Before he can do much more than yelp, Lita nods. "Yeah. You thought my girls were, what-- vulgar? Trashy?"

Suddenly, she sneers down at him, making him stumble back in shock. Or try to, anyway, his hand still firmly stuck in dense, cushy belly-fat and  _ hard _ , harsh ab-muscle. "Oh yeah, that's right," she says casually, then spits to the side, disintegrating a remnant lump of bricks. "You called 'em  _ ugly!" _

"I-- you're such.. You…" Max stutters, swinging back to the extension of his arm. His heels are almost off the ground; indeed, he's nearly completely leaving his weight to her to support.

_ Just like our little group efforts, eh, Fusion? _ Lita juts her chin at him, then squirms her powerful shoulders about. "Give 'em a punch, hombrecito. I'm giving you a free shot! Oooh."

He does, in fact, take a shot. Launching all of the pent-up energy he had left, Fusion Fighter's free hand suddenly crackles with an intense sphere of jagged, glowing green and blue energy, and he swings at her left boob with all his remnant might.

He uses up so much power that he shrinks himself so noticeably she has to tighten up the abs holding his fist.  _ Not that he's fast enough to succeed-- or clever enough to think of it. _

It didn't even dimple Lita's breast.

The smack of his knuckles glanced off the heavy, squishy sweater-mammoth, deflecting off the smooth, deeply tan-colored skin the way the light refracts off its glossiness. It's a decent enough light pet, and she closes her eyes and smacks her lips in satisfaction, shaking her lush ass around and letting her pussy moisten.

Only a little; mostly, she just coos and giggles. There's an art to it, cinching his brain in a triangle choke of sorts-- caught between the hardness that hurts him, the softness that taunts him, and the cloying cutesieness that whips him like the feeble little prick he really is.

Like he deserves.

Max howls in response. "No! Fuck you! Fuck you! Let me go you crazy psycho-bitch!"

Lita is slightly impressed; instead of giving up, he howls, reverting to a berserker flailing this way and that, trying desperately to pull his diminished fist free. He slams left, and hurts his shoulder; hauls right, and nearly pops his other one, crashing this way and that, feet desperately dancing over the rubble in his desperation to escape.

He even does enough damage to himself, storing up energy and growing again, that he can boost his attacks once more. His trapped knuckles' crunch makes the effect even more comic than the pathetic sight of a male who thinks he's strong in the first place. He pops her right tit with twice the force that he expended into the left while screaming and wailing like a weepy little boy.

"Mmm," she groans, flexing her glutes again and rutting her pussy towards him--  _ Hey, he might even be a big enough dick to satisfy, even if he doesn't  _ have _ a big enough dick to do much more than clit-tickle-- _ while her sweet honey soaks her jeans again.

"Mmm, yeah," Lita repeats, chewing her lower lip and opening her left eye. Raising the brow briefly, she reaches down and ruffles his hair, snorting as he tries-- and fails-- to duck away from the condescension.

Being so weak that punching her unflexed titty hurts him frankly makes Max  _ deserve _ condescension. Sure, she's dense enough and huge enough that it's like smacking an extra-heavy punching bag-- with more volume, just arranged differently, but still, the little whimpers, just from taking a boob shot?

Yeah, he's in for quite a lot of condescension… among other things. "Aw, pobrecito. You doin' good…" She nods at him and pouts again.

Then Lita screws up her face into a stormy glare of disapproval. "Just not good  _ enough! _ "

Dumb as she expected, Fusion Fighter just goggles at her, flicking his wrist about. "What the fuck are you t- _ talking _ about, you monstrous cunt?" he whines. Disappointing her again.

Not wise.

He's still wringing his "free" hand out when Lita growls at him, and he's still spluttering when she grabs his head, fingers clenching around more than half of his skull. Since he's not blessed with a complete sensorium, she drags his head around so he's staring her huge left nipple face to nub.

_ Now _ she flexes her left pec, with surgical deftness, her thumb and fingers trembling over his skull only slightly. The sudden  _ whomp _ of exquisite jug-ness juts her nipple forward. Her aim is true; she smacks his lips and nose both together with the huge thing. It's just a tiny flex, barely twice as hard as necessary to break his nose.

She sneers, and drags Max's suddenly screaming face up and down over her nip, cleaning the blood off onto his eyes, forehead, cheeks, and even some of his hair. Then she bears down with her belly again, just a little harder.

But hard enough to make the curvy squish suddenly very hard over the  _ rest _ of his hand. As he screams and she refuels his biochemical fusion reactor, she growls. "I told you. Not. Good. Enough."

Another "Wha," makes her snarl a lot harder, and he cringes back. "What… what do you  _ want _ ?" he huffs, cheeks puffing out and sweat sheening bitterly over his forehead.

Lita snorts. "I'd ask who does your fighting, because I remember when you tried to convince the Wayne Robotics people I was just a pilot, but I'm not so dumb as you, big man," she purrs. "Let me repeat myself, you tiny-brained, tiny-dicked little hog."

His jaw opens so wide she's tempted to skip to the oral part of the breast satisfaction survey, but no, she flexes her enormous, heavily sculpted pec muscles out. A little bit of the striated hardness shows, just out of sight above the colossal swell of her titties.

As the lovely mega-melons dance hypnotically around, Lita speaks, slowly, clearly, like he didn't understand English and she was his kind of tourist. "Not… good… enough." Then she curls back her lips in a hellish smile, showing her bright canines and dipping forward enough while squeezing her tits up so he can see his target and her teeth all at the same time.

"So try again. Now, bitch!"


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max Vetter is a trash human being. Bigoted, spiteful, with a swollen ego far beyond his otherwise decent assignment from the genetic lottery that is humanity. He could have been someone important in the Age of Heroes, perhaps.
> 
> If only he hadn't been quite so convinced he already was.
> 
> But it is now the time of Hunters, and of those Hunters, whatever Max thinks, Moto-Lita is one of the most powerful. Unfortunately for him, while she's quite kind, in her way, to those who submit to her, those who defy her will soon learn that she has a Sadism Hunger as big as she is, and she is an extremely beefy hunk of lady, even if you exclude the colossal muscularity of her colossal body. And as for Max, well...
> 
> He made himself her enemy. Now, he's just an annoyance. All the tastier for his weakness and arrogance. So she humiliates him. She hurts him.
> 
> And she's going to enjoy raping him as she tortures him. She has to feed, after all. It wouldn't do to damage useful toys.
> 
> The part of all of it, though is that she's going to get to damage him deeply enough to reforge him. He'll become a useful toy.
> 
> Well, a useful little pain-loving muscle-slut, to be more precise.

Sobbing and whimpering, Max Vetter is in real trouble. He's lost a full three inches of height and quite a lot of muscle mass, expending himself and almost all of his pent-up energy reserves, not even to try to harm the mighty Moto-Lita, but just to get free of her.

_ She's a chubby bitch! _ he whines to himself.  _ She's a lying, chubby bitch! I'd have known if that stupid squaw was lying to me-- I insisted we meet without all the heavy armor! She's got to be lying-- she's got to be-- I've  _ got _ to be able to get away, at least! _

Fusion Fighter launches a punch at her right tit, and wails as his knuckles bust and bleed on the dense roundness that he tries so hard to disbelieve is making his balls fill with cum. Then he chokes out an agonized cry as she laughs at him, and hauls his head around as though he  _ wasn't _ one of the most powerful supers on…

At least the West Coast of America, and that's what counts, right? Still holding him stuck in the jelly of a belly he forces himself to believe he's repulsed by, Lita swings him up and around by his hair.

"No-no-no-no-no!" As he sobs, whimpers, and yells, she wipes the blood of his knuckles off with his pecs. His whole body stiffens as the indignity slams through him. She used him like a  _ handkerchief. _

As though the solid, manly wall of power he'd inherited was nothing more than a flimsy rag. "You can't," he wheezes, and she just laughs. Now if only so much of him wasn't starting to be sure that manly and flimsy were the same thing-- that the only strength was  _ feminine _ ... 

And hers. All hers. All for Moto-Lita, mistress and Warqueen of the Bay Area.

_ This is impossible! She's a flabby fucking bitch! _ He tries hard to ignore the sobbing tears running down his cheeks, the humiliating rush of pain-- and the even more humiliating rush of arousal.

His cock doesn't think it's impossible. His dick, which somehow is harder than his fists at his best-- which hasn't shrunk proportionally, but his costume's reactive nanos  _ have _ , and it feels like it's nearly bent in half. Agony runs through him from his groin out.

And his limbs in. His free hand is aching like he'd pounded it into hardened battleplate-- unpowered. The hand caught in the tubby cunt's tubby tummy… her somehow stone-hard chub swallowing him like those lips were born to sw… to…

His dreams evaporate almost completely in that moment. Cut out of him, like a surgeon removing defective organs.

It was dreams that had brought him here. Dreams of revenge. Dreams of power. Dreams of finally getting the recognition he deserved, rather than that cloying, preachy  _ alien _ , a spoiled, no-power  _ hack _ , if you can believe it, and a fucking foreign  _ chick _ …

Dreams of much more, too.

Thoughts of becoming a giant, true-blue American beefcake hardass, of finally getting his revenge on the world that unfairly labelled his father a racist just because he wouldn't put up with some bullshit in his own home country-- that called  _ him _ , Max Vetter, an honest-to-God superhero, a Nazi, just for telling it like it is…

Of being able to fuck and own those stupid, lying bitches all over.  _ He _ knew he could do it. That he could control himself most of the time, and take what he wanted the rest. That he could restore the good ol U-S-of-A, be worshiped as a hero in public, and as a  _ god _ in private.

He had known. Just like he'd always known Moto-Lita was a lying slut, some greasemonkey greaser whore for whoever the real genius was behind the suit. He'd never been fooled-- you didn't build tech like that in a maquiladora!-- and he'd been furious that if she was putting out for her sponsor…

She'd been a little too round, especially in the ass and boob but yeah, stomach and the rest too, pre-Pulse, to be picked for her  _ skills _ , after all…

If she was putting out for her sponsor, ignoring his obvious charms and genius as a leader, and not at least giving him a blow like they used to consider damn-near mandatory even for the "heroines" with  _ talent _ just a fucking decade ago! Maybe a decade and a half, two, tops.

He'd had such plans… He was going to be the God of Freedom. He was going to have such a big dick, such big muscles, but such a big dick and so many stupid Hunter whores-- well, the smart ones, who surrendered-- to use it on…

But now, now he sees those lips of hers...

Even more tears run down Max's cheeks as he realizes that while he can think of her lips and cocks…

Thinking about them either tells him how small and uncontrollable he'd be with Moto-Lita's mouth on  _ any _ part of him, let alone his traitorous weiner, or worse, how big a dick would need to be in order to be  _ worth _ Her time.  _ Not Her-- just her! No capital, no capi-- _

"Auuughhh!" he screams as her chub crunches down around his hand, sending jolts of power and lightning blasts of pain down his arms.

The huge Hunter shakes her head, sniffing in disappointment. " _ Again, _ " Lita demands, but the only again he can manage is to slump down almost to the maximum extension of his trapped arm, staring at her in shock.

Fusion Fighter's entire world explodes in pain as her palm comes down on the left side of his face so hard it sears the bloodstains into charred little brands. He can feel nothing for a few moments  _ save _ pain. Feel nothing, see nothing, hear nothing.

But he can smell his flesh char-- worse, he can smell how wet Moto-Lita's pussy is getting. Part of him knows how dangerous Hunter sex pheremones are… but it's just a tiny bit of fear under raging panic. Not the least because as she refilled his biochemical fusion stock… she forced him to climax, high on pain and pussy-scent.

_ Maybe there's something to the idea that their musk pheromones can control your mind? That has to be it! That's the only reason I came, it has to be! _

The truth-- that the mighty Moto-Lita's pussy smells utterly delicious and divine and it's his own body that's ordering him to worship it by orgasm-- is something so horrible that he shies away from it, but so obvious that he can't entirely ignore it. "No!" he whines, almost a whimper.

"Do it again," the titanic woman says, her titanic curves looking far more threatening than when he  _ appreciated _ the pictures of her transformed state in private. She looms over him, the hulking muscles beneath the not-so-soft layer of chubbiness starting to show.

Even now, Max Vetter still thinks the old rules are true. Rich is better than poor. Male is better than female. White is better than everything. Protestant better than Catholic. In every last way that  _ should  _ matter in his universe, some insane part of him still believes that he matters more than she does.

But more and more of him is disagreeing with those old certainties. He can barely whisper his reply. "Fuck you, you won't get such satisfaction from me!"

He braces himself for further pain that never comes. That spoiled-sweet, cutsey half-accent smacks him with artistic largess. It's worse.

"Do it  _ again _ ," she purrs, and he gasps, his ass squeezing and hips pumping from just the power of those lush vibrations running over him. "Do it again, and maybe I let your other hand go, eh?"

\---

_ I would, too… Long enough to find out how he'd done it. Oh, you  _ could  _ live like a god, Max Vetter, if you could hurt an Outlier. _

Max is, in fact, giving Lita  _ quite _ a lot of satisfaction. She’s fantasizing about him, too. All sorts of wonderful, wonderful things.

_ I could live as the ultimate queenmaker, rationing you out to the most powerful women on the planet. You like that, eh? I bet you would... _

"But you gotta do it!" she snarls.

Panic rules Max nearly as much as the insanely strong ultra-predator who induces it. His ass tightens further, his thighs squeeze and feebly flex, his whole chest vibrates with the  _ need to escape need to escape NEED TO ESCAPE! _

Such a pitiful little cry, next to the fever urge in her, the sadistic impulse that pokes and prods and tests to destruction not to feed her well-satiated dominance hunger…

But because the little shit dared to claim he could be a threat-- and is having performance issues.  _ You need to escape? I NEED TO FEED! _

The immense power the most mighty and beautiful Moto-Lita slapped into his puny male body erupts from his free elbow, flares into his hips. His chest squeezes and his triceps slam, rocketing a Fusion Fist straight at her, buoyed by a secondary burst from the edge of his lower arm that he's never wielded before.

In less time than it takes his heart to beat at her encouraging smile, with his pink, plump-tipped prick pulsing to please her rather than escape her, he spins up at her right breast, slamming his fist dead center at her nipple.

"Mmmm,  _ yeah! _ " the magnificently mighty and most terrifying Moto-Lita coos at him, and his mind nearly goes blank at the heady, rich scent of her slit gushing. It  _ does _ go blank from the agony; even his biochemical conversion isn't sufficient to stop his wrist and ulna from breaking in three or four places.

Each. Though his radius only fractures. His pupils dilate, his eyes spin back, and he's about to pass out when she yanks casually at his hair, nearly ripping it right out of his scalp. "Nooooo!" he screams.

\---

Max is awakened to the clucking of her tongue.  _ Thnck, thnck, thnck _ , like a clock's tick made with a giantess' mace. "Getting closer…" His vision swims, and then focuses on her honeyed lips, pursing at him.

_ They're so beautiful… but… _ He can all-too easily imagine that big tongue curling around his feeling far-too-tiny cock, with an artful obscenity that he'd have called slutty once, but knows is the act of a mistress now. Curling around it and pulling his entire being in a single snap.

A lovely pouting, sweet and inviting-- but his body takes it as an order, no matter what he desires. "C'mon," she coos, but incredibly, he feels his arm pulling back and his fist clenching-- his legs even move into the proper form for a harder swing. "Try a bit harder, precioso!" she orders.

And it's then and there that he loses it. He can't help it. His cause is lost.

Fusion Fighter's fist bunches up. He tries to look up, past the tit that's his target. He fails. All he can do is look at a nipple nearly as big as his head, and try not to think about how little he'd mind being hurt, just for the chance to suck on part of it.

When he makes the punch, it's almost like someone else is tugging on his tendons.

\---

There's something abstractly beautiful about the way neurons fire when a man's deep in subspace, desperate to please his mistress, and yet, he realizes that the only way to please her is to struggle.  _ It's even more delicious when they don't know they're a slave yet. _ But Fusion Fighter is taken.

It's the only reason she forgives the lame-ass punch he tries next.  _ I'll admit… That's why the tee and jeans. If there's anything I'm willing to take from Mandy and Lian, it's fucking with the brain when they're caught between big, hard scyllas and plush, soft charybdises. _

It does excuse him. No form, his feet sloppy and away from the line of his shoulders, thumb all wrong-- even Max Vetter can do better than that. Just a wild swing, tears stinging his eyes and distracting his narrow human sight from the most important thing around-- her breast.

There's not a dimple of flesh from the ragged hook. Not even a faint jiggle. She sighs and shakes her head, pressing her smooth, wet lips together in a teasing pout.

Max's jaw doesn't drop  _ too _ far this time. But really.  _ When he gets scheduled for oral agility training and show course, he only has himself to blame. _

Time for a bit more fine detail work. Wrinkling her nose and sniffing lightly, Lita makes a sly smile, teasing her finger up to her lips once more. "You get somewhere with this fist, eh, maybe I'll stop playing with this one."

As he blinks, swallowing heavily, her jaw shifts, and she flexes all of her abs at once.

Not hard enough to show past her belly, of course. She's not trying to turn it into a bloody spray, after all. Just enough for her to feel her own strength, just a bit.

The moment Lita does, of course, he pleasures her. Howling and bawling and screaming, flailing about wildly.  _ Some good discipline, _ a controlled part of her judges, while most of her just enjoys how wet his agonized cries and futile flailing make her.

Her tongue curls around and over her digit, teasing at it, while her thighs start to squeeze and rub together, catching her sex-honey as it it flows, down against the facsimilated denim.

Because enough strength for her to feel is enough to recharge the vast majority of Max's biochemical fusion stock, to overflow him into glowing radiance, and to savagely break his fingers and much of his hand. Yet the weak little bitch doesn't blast out in random directions as he bawls. Doesn't waste her gift for unintended purposes.

_ If he can't whale away at mis tetas while he wails, the least he can do is stock it up for when his control is more coherent beneath me. Wimpy little pain sluts are fine… as long as they're  _ efficient  _ little wimps. _

Lita inclines her head towards him, twisting her pointer finger out and around her cheek, down her forehead and then behind her eye, while her pinkie sweeps up and across full-bodied lips, stroking the light wetness. "Because, big man, those screams?" She nods at him with her best How  _ you _ doin' smirk.

Then she groans out the orgasm he's been building in her. "They're  _ so _ much better than your punches!" Squeezing her huge glutes  _ far _ harder than her abs, she begins the terrible hyperflexion. To show him just how fucked he is.

The first part of it he can't see. Not really; a Hunter could see her ass suddenly double and redouble in size, all the plush starting to conform to the huge bands and their long arcs beneath. But they should be able to see the power beneath in the first place, though so many seem fooled by the jiggles. But he sees the hips-- even if his head is clearly too far gone to appreciate it at first.

But then it happens. The ripple spreads. First to her hamstrings and up along her back. And it travels fast up the long ridges of her traps, of course, immediately showing the unparalleled definition that is her  _ right _ as a Hunter, not just mass.

But it doesn't stay so invisible. The moment the flex hits her obliques, let alone her lats and quads-- he knows. He sees.

It's sort of an inverse surgery. She's got some stupidity to excise, but she wants to keep most of it in. So by being immensely  _ unsubtle _ , she can blow his mind… and leave the trashy remnants there to play with.

There's so much massive, bulging muscle, every individual head and bend and seemingly every  _ fiber _ pumped out from within the already enormous limbs and her even heavier torso that Lita blots out the Sun for him. He glows, still pulsing with his biochemical fusion reaction in overdrive, and it's only by  _ her _ grace that she doesn't just shatter his hand when she flexes the other abs out, showing them off.

Her pecs swell and bulge, like the monster truck tires they equal in volume growing tight, complete with "treads" of striations-- not that he can see them, what with her gorgeously gargantuan melons starting to grow as well.

All he can do is shrink back, and not much of that, either. His slender little quarterback-broad shoulders shudder almost as much as his knocking knees; while her bulging boulder delts and enormous killer calves stiffen and strengthen.  _ Her _ body shudders, too-- from the squishiness turning into  _ tightness _ all over.

You could crack an egg-- or a safe-- against her skin, shattering the outer layer to pieces. Perfect proportions of power, perfect, symmetrical beauty, displayed with perfect poise and perfectly set posing.

Predictably enough, that's when he chooses to stamp his feet into a credible-- for a human-- imitation of a proper stance, settling shoulders and feet into alignment, and lunges towards her. Hips turning in an unconscious parallel of some of the arcs of glowing energy surrounding his fists and body, Fusion Fighter makes his best attempt at a tit-punch yet.

"Aww, too late, big man!" she coos, yawning as she lazily blocks his punch with her palm. "Oooh, now, that's a scream!"

And indeed his howls make her grind and shift, glutes and quads and abs and all around bouncing as she bears down with her clenching cunny, her gush quite visible in her musk-soaked jeans now. She clucks her tongue at him. "Guess you get by on bein' slow but cute, eh, precioso?"

Tears stream down Max's cheek, flickering in the darkness of her shadow, barely lit by the green pulse of his energies. "I… I di-- I did wha-- what…"

Squirming her hips and mega-flexed thighs back and forth, rocking her elbows and shoulders around, she nods, with an almost amiable smile. She releases his hand and in a flash, her arms curl out above the line of her shoulders, hands cupped with the palms towards herself to complete the flex, making her peaks flare out as hard as her lats, and her forearms far more than foothills to her biceps.

Of course, she doesn't stop grinding his  _ first  _ hand hard-- though she doesn't grind it down harder, either. The kindness of it may be hard for the bastard to tell, though.

"I  _ did! _ " he insists, bawling and shuddering as he sees for the first time the true strength of an Outlier. The power that is Moto-Lita, unfiltered by the limitations of cameras, unsheltered by her curvy beauty, radiant and terrible. A Muscle Goddess, as that annoying twat Mandy would say.

A very small part of her wonders why she has less problem being called a goddess than hearing humans take their Lord's name in vain. But she knows why. And it's not just because her new faith is both polytheistic and polypantheistic.

There's such worship in Max Vetter's eyes that more than a little of her wonders how right Mandy is-- about that, at least.

"That's why, bebé," Lita laughs. "You were tryin' so hard and just couldn't get nowhere! That's why you gotta hurt."

Her prey hangs his head, shaking it in rapid, short jerks that match his short, hard breathing. His dick thickens with each inhalation, achingly stiff already, but now jamming hard against his bodysuit's protection. It needs her so badly-- so much more honestly than he-- that she can detect a mild series of fusion bursts starting to erupt  _ from _ the head.

_ Ooh, that'd be fun to play with! _ Her sex grips and squeezes-- and floods-- at the thought of cumming down on a dick desperately  _ trying _ to explode. And surviving it to be used again. Harder.

Like an old weightlifting man to some muscle-admiring tourist-- save, hopefully, for the scale of violence!-- Lita puffs another kiss at him. Precise motions, seeming sloppy but done with exact intent and effect.

Lifting her chin, she gives him another smug nod and purrs, deep and low. "Shh, shh, it's okay, precioso." She nods again, slowly, like they were coming to some sort of agreement. "You tried, you failed, you just a man. That's okay. I'll help you! I promise."

Her left brow arches slowly as her smile broadens at both ends. "Ooh," she groans, and licks her chops Hungrily. "Oh yeah. Lita make you  _ all _ better, yes she will…"

Max stutters, getting her implication rather faster than she thought. "I don't need your fu-fucking -- I don't-- your -- just leave me alone, you crazy b--" His eyes bug out again and his mouth makes the widest O yet as he stares at her hulking, bulked-out hyper-flexion in awed terror.

_ Like he's auditioning to be a tittie-slave for the rest of his short life. Nip and cleavage service both. But that's okay, cutie-pie. You gonna serve my titties, my clitty, my butt, my muscles--  _ everything--  _ for a long, long time. _

Out loud she just coos at him, pulling the heels of her palms up to the top of her head, resting them atop her bandanna. "Shhh, you gonna make mami think you don't want to be free, after all!" She tilts her elbows up, tightening up her triceps-- the long muscles alone thicker than his whole thigh by far. Then she tugs in her arms to kiss each bicep in succession.

Not light little pecks, either. Lita takes long, lingering slurps of her tongue, teasing the smoothness and running through the grooves, turning her head this way and that as she flexes her arms harder-- her legs harder-- her  _ everything _ harder.

Terror rules Max on her behalf like a harsh steward. He screams-- rutting his hips and grinding forward like he was already trying to pleasure her, but screams-- and throws his free hand up. Like he could try to ward her off. Tears roll down his cheeks again, and his pupils are dilating so far she's surprised he can see her hulking increase at all.

_ He seems so surprised. Didn't he even bother to research those lovely photos Harmaggression put up on the web after I made him lick every last one of my muscles from head to toe to earn leaving the Kennels-- or the comparative posing "contest" the delicious thing had to endure losing to be allowed back in when he came begging? _

She giggles. "But maybe that's it?" Striking with surgical precision, only letting the slightest bit of hyper-flexion cease to move at all, she slaps her hand down with air-burning force. She stops herself short, so that she doesn't cook his nuts, but she does burn her palmprint into his costume, scorching it around his groin. "You got an eensy-- very eensy-- bit of a hard-on there, precioso."

He's too shocked-- and stunned from the sudden shake in his body, balls first-- to do anything but moan. "No, no, no no…"

"Tsk, tsk,  _ very _ little man," she purrs, chewing her lower lip slowly as she starts to release her immense muscles' hulk-out flexing. She slowly extends-- and contracts-- the muscle mass returning to merely gigantic from utterly titanic. "Don't worry so much."

He stares up at her out of tearstained eyes. Pale face wan and pale from the abuse-- and how close he is to the climax she's carefully been forbidding him with pain. He even wraps his hand around the elbow of his trapped arm and tries an absolutely  _ adorable _ little yank.

It doesn't do much to even jiggle her bellyfat, but it does make her feel  _ so _ good not too much lower.

_ P-a-t-h-e-t-i-c. So pathetic I'm…  _ "Ahhh!" Lita squeals happily, making sure to add a bit of a screech, just to fuck with his head and keep him from reaching full entrancement as she soaks her jeans in orgasmic musk yet again.

Her heady scent keeps him trapped, metaphorical nose just above the waterline, sobbing, trembling, and shuddering, without actually able to lose himself in surrender to his muscular mistress. And there's so much of it now.

"Don't worry," Lita repeats, laughing all the more as his "strong" jaw trembles and his chin quivers like a beaten little boy. Tilting her head to the left, she gives him a warm smile, and nods again, quirking the left side of her smile up a bit more than the right. "You were  _ always _ weak," she tells him, soft and slow, exaggerating her tongue-motions deliberately.

To Fusion Fighter's dumbfounded stare, she continues, "Always. Even before. I knew. Believe me,  _ everybody _ knew how weak you were, even then."  _ Everyone who was smart enough to see your macho bullshit for what it was, and they're the only ones I care about. _

She holds a little bit of the flexion on. More of the "weightlifter" and less of the "with gut" of the "weightlifter with gut" default she usually struts around with. Narrowly muscle-minded as most males are, despite the obvious lacks, having the extra bits of sculpting showing should remind him of the superior sex and who the superior person is in this little scenario.

Not a relationship, because mistresses don't so much have relationships with slaves; they have needs and they have requirements.  _ Joan gets a relationship because she's my friend  _ and _ my slave. You, now, Max… _

The goggle-eyed look isn't the most handsome, even for a connoisseur of the weakness of men. The still-dripping tears, the shuddering chin, and the cringing to the extent that her hold on Max's hand permits-- much better. Hell, the way his knees are knocking just gets her all the moister, her toes curling over what a crushable little worm he is.

Lita lets him know, inclining her head back to the right and licking her lips nice and slow. "We all knew," she repeats, and gives him a tender, caring smile. "That's why you kept making those remarks about who was making my armor, huh? Kept trying to claim there's no way the stupid Mexican could have made it… Ahhh!"

The last sentence murdered so much of his hope she had to cream. Just had to. Her "merely" overwhelming beefiness is all around him, flexion exquisitely vibrating her taut, dark-tan skin.

Fusion Fighter is locked in the coolness of her shadow. "Please," he whispers, but it's clear by the wildness in his eyes, the slight decoupling of their attention, and the sweat all but dissolving his costume that he doesn't know  _ what _ he's pleading for.

A little light can reach him now, without her most bulky form leaving him utterly in darkness, but he's shivering and quaking so much his little ass doesn't so much ever unclench as change which parts are squeezed too hard!

Adorable. Adorably weak, adorably beaten… and adorably  _ hers _ .

  
Because he's not only shivering with fear. Not with how stiff his dick is getting; its sad little precum flow redoubling, but still only lightly adulterating the pool of femmejuices left by Moto-Lita. His mouth is slack with shock but wet with drool; his pecs and abs squeeze and release constantly, but his nipples stay as hard as his cute little prick the whole time.

So she sentences him to deeper darkness. "Don't struggle, Fusion," she instructs Max, and he only whines while his eyelids twitch.

Lita's knees bend and her calves pump out dangerously. Her quads' so-called slight bulge, outmassing some of her vassals' hyperflexed  _ torsos _ , push up and out and grow still more impossibly taut as she crouches to him. "Shhh." Closer and closer, she leans, and suddenly her palm comes down, broad across his ass.

  
Fusion flinches, but for all her firmness, there isn't even sting. For a brief moment, she's even giving his tightly clenched softness a very precisely delivered buttrub.

And it's right then that Lita flexes her monstrously huge pectoral muscles again. Far bigger than Max would be, curled up, the banded, blunt muscles, half-hidden from weaklings by her perfectly rounded melons, they grow taut and hard… harder… hyper-flexion once more!

The rounded perfection of her mammoth, teardrop-with-extra tits squooshes around him. She is a generous mistress indeed; it's only her boobs' natural denseness that traps him at first.

Lita's supple fingers ignore his pathetic attempts to squeeze up, of course, save to give her reasons to coo and giggle, "You always  _ were _ weak! Couldn't  _ handle _ the competition!" Her fingertips push into his glutes, as hard as he can flex them, forcing them to squish around like flab for her.

But other than the mild ache of having the biggest muscles in his itty bitty body squeezed and rubbed around like jello, it's actually pretty nice. He's not cold any longer, though it's still dark and his shivering for  _ other _ reasons is being used as a breast-vibrator. All that heavy warmth isn't tight enough to hurt him yet, and if her musk and sweat are a bit dominant and his limbs surrounded by heavy softness, well.

Dominant is what happens to him now.

As she licks her lips and rubs harder, with his face centimeters into the dense tightness of her cleavage, her fingers make his butt tingle and relax, the fear that the rest of him feels slowly draining from it.

Until she speaks again. She has to suppress a giggle, too; just the sound of her voice, sweet as can be, makes him shake and shudder, lithe little six-three man caught in her embrace. He even tries to squeeze down on his cute little butt, but not with her hand forcing more massage into it. She wants at least part of him limp…

No matter how hard his cock gets. "It's okay," she coos at him while he tries to thrash, the even  _ greater _ weakness in his midsection giving a sort of limp, noodle-like quality to his futile squirming.

Lita begins to push him towards the darkness. "Take a  _ deep _ whiff," she orders. "Taste me. But you'll taste something else on the air. Some _ one _ else.." Her other hand strokes his hair, petting it down and shaping it almost maternally.

While her hand at his ass works him into an obscene state of limp body, hard cock, and masculine weakness that's anything  _ but _ motherly. Especially when her middle finger tears open his costume and smashes his cup right off.

Obedient but terrified, Fusion Fighter inhales deeply. "I smell you, great goddess! Only you!" His eyes are already watering; too much Lita and not enough oxygen in the deep breaths she makes him take.

_ Goddess already is it? Fuck, Max, if you wanted to be my cushion back then… after I turned eighteen at least… coming to me on my knees and begging, and being understanding about me filming you, that would have been much smarter than the nasty little shit you pulled. _

Lita's long middle finger begins to rub between his wimpy chicken thighs. Not quite to the balls, not quite to the anus, she teases his taint as she continues to walk him bit by bit into the utter trap. "Deeper, worm. Or you'll be crushed as flat as one."

Sobbing and flopping about against her hand while his arm hauls disconsolately against the trap of his hand, he amuses her. The big, "strong" macho man, so tough and manly, humping his balls back towards her finger. She discourages it with a swat of said finger, making him yelp, and carefully squeezing his butt so he can't tighten it despite what her finger does to his nuts.

He inhales, jaw forcing its way to nipple-teasing depths again and nostrils flaring like a bull about to be broken in the arena of her breasts. "There's… something metallic… tangy, bitter, I don't…"

"His tears, el pobrecito. His tears, and his sweat, just like yours! And the cum-- ooh, my little titty-worm came so hard, just like you will… Do you know, little man, I don't know if he'll ever walk again?"

Max cries out, and suddenly she squeezes down hard enough to leave bruises on his butt, fingers digging into his thighs and taint maliciously. "And I don't care anymore. But about  _ you _ , Fusion? Oh, I care. You managed to convince me to care, worm."

Breathing heavily, her great pecs heave about, thrusting her heavy, chocolate-tan tits against him and making him grunt. "Whuff!" he cries and shudders, and her plan reaches fruition when she viciously jabs the root of his dick from below.

Sparking and sparkling, throbbing and pulsing, his realigned chakras and biochemical pathways force his fusion stock to concentrate in his pathetic member. While stuck weak-- he's just a man after all, not a futa Hunter-- it's starting to grow towards acceptable size in no time. Caressing his hair one last time as he weeps, she cups the back of his head in her palm.

"It's okay," Lita repeats. "When I'm done with you, you'll  _ never _ fuck up like  _ that _ again." Her fingers curl in his hair, and her forearm bulges out with apocalyptic force. "I  _ promise. _ "

Roaring out laughter that snaps and fractures his knuckles almost to breaking again and again, she shoves him the rest of the way home in her cleavage. Her hands curl to fists, regardless of the brutal forces that afflict him, making him glow with converted energy and scream with unconvertable pain.

Her huge titties bounce and jiggle with her laughter, slapping him like having metahuman-level punching bags constantly smacked hinto him from the left and right and all around.

"Enjoy it, precioso," she groans, pussy soaking yet again. "I know  _ I _ am."


End file.
